Their eyes met, and Sister felt a cold chill up her spine. There was something confused, and dangerous, in this woman’s gaze. Joan Sanchez had clearly experienced deep pain, and hadn’t quite emerged whole on the other side of that dark tunnel. People like that, in an attempt to ease the pain, often blamed others for what had happened to them, and sometimes the ones who tried to help them paid the highest price.
Sister Agatha was climbing back onto the Harley just as Sheriff Green pulled up and got out of his car. She left the engine off, and waited for him to approach. Anger was clearly etched on his features. If he had been a cartoon character, smoke would have been coming from his ears.
“I haven’t even questioned this suspect yet, and here you are. You’re interfering with a police investigation. Are you aware of that?”
“I only stopped by to inform Mrs. Sanchez that Father Anselm’s funeral is going to be held the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, please. You don’t expect me to believe that’s all you talked about.”
Rather than get into a useless argument, she took a deep breath and filled him in on what she’d learned. She made sure to mention that Mrs. Sanchez had been counseled by Father Anselm, and what Mrs. Sanchez had said about the priest avoiding her recently.
“Thanks for being honest with me, but I guess that’s par for the course with a nun—even one on a Harley with a K-9 in the sidecar.” He started to smile, but stopped himself and grew somber again. “But understand this—I will not tolerate you interfering in my case.”
“I’m just helping.”
“I don’t need your help, but if you insist on meddling, then you better get one thing straight. Anything you learn, you turn over to me. Otherwise I’ll slap you with a charge of obstruction of justice.”
“Of course I’ll share whatever I find out with you. We’re not competing, Tom.” She stopped and smiled. “And you should be glad that we’re not, or it would be like it was in high school and college. You wouldn’t have a chance.”
“Oh, really?” The challenge made a familiar competitive spark light up in his eyes.
“Yes, really. I depend on God now. That gives me an even greater advantage.” She smiled. “Mind you, there’s no doubt that you’re bigger and tougher in some ways than I am, but remember David and Goliath? News flash. The little guy won.”
“Just so I’m clear—we are on the same side?”
“You bet,” she said. “You want answers, and I want you to find them quickly so the monastery will be at peace again.”
“All right. Now let me tell you something about Joan Sanchez that should encourage you to steer clear of her in the future. It’s not exactly confidential. You could find it in the courthouse records if you looked hard enough. But I’d rather you avoid doing that, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Her husband died in a shooting incident that the district attorney and the investigating officer concluded was ‘accidental.’ But I reviewed the evidence recently, and I’ve got to tell you, I wouldn’t have closed the case so quickly. Her story was that Mr. Sanchez was teaching her how to load the weapon and the gun went off. But the report says she was covered with cuts and bruises. Mrs. Sanchez stated that she got the injuries when she fell, running back to their car to get help because they were in the middle of nowhere. But I don’t buy it. The cuts weren’t the kind one gets from tumbleweeds and rocks, and they were mostly on her face. She insisted she fell, but the profile screams battered wife.”
“Why didn’t the investigating officer look into it some more?”
“She’d never pressed charges, so there was nothing else he could do. He found no previous record that she was the victim of spousal abuse. A couple of neighbors said that they heard screaming some nights, but she never called the police or mentioned abuse to anyone.”
“You think she killed him?”
“I can’t prove it But, in a word, yes. I think she set him up, too, so there’d be no witnesses.”
“And you’re linking that to Father Anselm’s death… how?”
“Circumstantial evidence indicates she had a thing for him. Or maybe she said something during confession, then decided to get rid of her confidant.”
Sister Agatha shook her head slowly. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to know the killer has been found, but now that I think about it, I don’t think she did it. I can see her wanting to rid herself of a man who was abusing her, but not one whose help she needed. It doesn’t make sense. If she’d stopped calling Father all of a sudden, giving up on either herself or him, that would have been a different story.”
“Poison is a weapon that requires premeditation and finesse, if you will, and it’s a method often attributed to women. If Joan Sanchez killed her husband, then a second murder would have come easier to her. From what I’ve learned, I think it’s possible she may have had a grievance against the Church. If that’s the case, as a nun, you’re also an enemy. Keep that in mind and steer clear of her, you hear?’
Sister Agatha knew he wanted her to give him her word, but she couldn’t do that. She was in pursuit of answers, just as he was, and there was no telling what she might have to do in the future to get them. Quickly switching on the motorcycle, and patting Pax on the head, she gave the sheriff a thumbs-up. “Be seeing you!”
As she drove away, she caught the look on his face in her rearview mirror. His jaw was set and his expression hard. It didn’t take a genius to know what was going through his mind. Although he had accepted the fact that he couldn’t stop her from investigating, he would do everything in his power to keep her on a short leash.
7
Knowing that everyone connected to the dead priest was a potential suspect, Sister Agatha headed next to the Catholic school where Father Anselm had been headmaster.
On the way, she saw a light-colored vehicle parked by the side of the road. No one was behind the wheel and no one seemed to be about. She glanced around, wondering if someone needed help, but seeing no one, drove past it, never giving it another thought. A second later, glancing back one last time in her rearview mirror, she caught a glimpse of the sedan pulling out behind her onto the road.
Surprised, she watched it for a second. It didn’t make sense unless the driver had ducked down to avoid being seen as she’d driven by. The theory made her uneasy, but the fact that he now appeared to be keeping pace with her, staying about three car lengths behind, supported it.
Not knowing if she was being followed by a killer or simply someone curious about the bike, she decided to make a random change in her course. She’d take a side road and see if the vehicle stayed with her.
“Hang on, Pax.” She quickly turned up a side road without signaling.
Moving past a large alfalfa field, she looked into the rear-view mirror and saw the other vehicle turning in the same direction.
Of course, it didn’t mean for certain that the driver was tailing her. He or she could live at, or be visiting, a farm farther down the road. But, just to be sure, she made a left turn at the next intersection, which circled the big field, then roared back down to the highway, leaving a cloud of dust. When she reached the highway, there was no traffic coming and she quickly accelerated toward Bernalillo.
The car failed to catch up, and Sister Agatha breathed a sigh of relief. The whole incident had unnerved her. Pushing the cycle for more speed, she arrived at St. Charles Academy in record time.
Sister Agatha parked, then walked Pax to a shady spot beneath a pine in front of the administration building. Looping his leash loosely around a low branch, she petted the dog. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”
The dog lay down, perfectly content to stay on the cool grass.
As she cut across the yard, she saw that the schoolyard was nearly empty except for the basketball game taking place on a large concrete slab that served as the court. A gym teacher wearing shorts and a St. Charles T-shirt was coaching the kids. Sister Agatha realized that most of the students attending th
e abbreviated summer session were probably inside in class. Summer sessions were always busy here. Many of the parents weren’t comfortable unless the kids were occupied during the summer, so St. Charles always had an active summer session.
As she went into the main office, she saw Mrs. Romero, the assistant principal, inside one of the private offices.
Seeing Sister Agatha, Patsy waved at her to come in. “Hi, Sister! It’s good to see you!”
“Do you have time to talk? I needed to ask you a few questions about Father Anselm,” Sister said. Patsy was a heavyset woman in her fifties who seemed to struggle perpetually with her weight. Of course, the candy bars that she always seemed to have within easy reach were undoubtedly part of the reason for that.
“What do you need to know?” Patsy got up and shut the door, giving them some privacy.
“Were any children or parents here at St. Charles a thorn in Father Anselm’s side?” Sister Agatha noticed a photograph of the priest on the wall. It had been draped in black cloth.
Mrs. Romero sat back down and followed Sister’s gaze. “You’re looking for an idea of who might have wanted to harm him?”
“We need to find the truth. The nuns are about to have their whole world turned upside down by a police investigation, and things will probably keep getting worse unless the sheriff clears things up or finds a suspect outside the monastery.”
“Surely Tom Green doesn’t think that the sisters had anything to do with Father’s death!” Assistant Principal Romero shook her head, thought about it for a moment, then addressed her question. “Most of our students are really great, but kids are kids. Some, I swear, are only on this earth to serve as a reminder to their parents that sex comes at a price.”
Sister Agatha chuckled. “What about the parents?” she asked.
“Those who send their kids to our academy and pay our tuition are usually very aware of what’s going on in their kids’ lives. That can create friction when they don’t feel their kid scored high enough on a test, and that sort of thing. Parents want to know they’re getting their money’s worth. Parental pressure is less on the scholarship students, but that’s probably because those kids are very highly motivated themselves. They know if they don’t perform, they’ll lose their scholarships.”
Hearing the bell ring, she casually glanced out the window. “What in heaven’s name—” Patsy rose to her feet quickly. “I’m sorry, Sister, I’ve got to get out there. The next period will be lunchtime for some and there’s a motorcycle parked on the grounds with a huge dog beside it. I don’t recognize either and some of our kids are already heading over there.”
“Don’t worry. It’s ours—the dog included,” Sister Agatha said, and Patsy turned around in surprise. “Our old car is at Mr. Gonzales’s garage again, its second home, apparently. That beautiful red motorcycle and sidecar was a donation. It was originally intended for Bobby Gonzales, but his parents gave it to the monastery so we’d have some transportation while our car is being repaired. It’s been a lifesaver.”
“The keys aren’t in it, are they, Sister?”
“Absolutely not,” Sister Agatha said, holding them up by one finger. “And Pax won’t hurt anyone. Let me go out there. I’ve taken up enough of your time. But call me if you think of anyone who might have had a grudge against Father Anselm.”
“Sure thing, Sister Agatha.”
As she walked across the schoolyard, she saw the kids were hesitant to approach Pax. Although the dog was lying down, perfectly calm, his size alone was enough to make most of them cautious.
Two teenaged girls crouched down and tentatively began to pet him. Pax’s tail began wagging furiously.
“Hello, girls,” Sister Agatha greeted.
“Sister Agatha, is this your dog? He’s so beautiful!” the tall black-haired girl with almond eyes said.
“Not mine, the monastery’s.”
“If you come to substitute teach this summer, will you bring him?”
Substitute teaching was a task Reverend Mother had assigned her as a way to help the parochial school, but she hated doing it It was too much a link to her past. “I don’t know, I really hadn’t thought about it.”
“Wow, does that Harley belong to the sisters too?” said a heavyset boy wearing black-framed glasses and a purple St. Charles T-shirt. She thought she recognized him from a class she’d taught for the gifted program, and recalled his name as Jason. “It’s awesome!”
“It sure is. And, yes, the motorcycle belongs to the monastery as well.”
“Wow. A nuncycle. Sister, you need boots and a black leather jacket to ride that thing,” Jason said. “With redundant zippers and metal studs.”
She laughed. “No, I don’t think the Vatican would authorize that radical change in the habit.”
As they clustered around, others joining the group, she saw a fragile-looking boy in a baggy gray knit shirt pushed aside roughly. “Hey, newbee, step aside.” A tall junior or senior wearing a football jersey growled, then laughed when his victim nearly fell.
“Show some respect for others!” Sister Agatha said firmly, turning and looking the bully right in the eye. Pax stood and came up behind her, staring at the teen as well. He bared his teeth but remained silent.
“Sorry, kid,” the bully mumbled. “Sorry, Sister Agatha.”
The smaller boy gave her a grateful smile, and she turned her attention back to Jason, who was asking her something about the motorcycle. By the time she turned back around, the boy who’d been shoved was gone. Most of the other students were beginning to wander off as well, heading to their cars or beginning to walk home.
“Who’s the boy in the gray shirt? I don’t recall seeing him before.” Sister Agatha asked the girl closest to her.
“That’s Timmy something, Johnson maybe. He’s new at St. Charles. I heard that all the medications he takes for asthma have stunted his growth. He doesn’t take PE, and a few of the bullies give him a hard time about that, but that’s probably because he’s smarter than all of them put together. He has a full scholarship, I think.”
Sister Agatha’s heart filled with sympathy. Kids could be unbelievably cruel without giving it a single thought.
Grabbing her helmet, Sister gave Pax the command to get into the sidecar. As the kids watched, she roared away on the motorcycle.
She found Timmy at the end of the school grounds. He was walking very slowly, and from the movement of his shoulders she suspected he was having problems breathing. “Would you like a ride home, Timothy?”
He breathed heavily and nodded. “Thanks. I’m having some problems right now.” He brought out a white inhaler, used it, then climbed up behind her onto the big saddle. Sister handed him her helmet, and made a mental note to find a second one for passengers.
“Put this on, Timothy. You can leave the visor up to make breathing easier. But snap on the chin strap, okay?”
He nodded, then put on the helmet. It was too big, and he could barely see out because it rode so low on his head, but his mouth and nose weren’t blocked.
“Where’s home?”
“It’s not far, Sister, but on a hot day like today it takes me a while.” He gave her directions that she knew led to a poor neighborhood close to the railroad tracks.
Sister Agatha drove slowly, hoping that the ride and fresh air would help the boy.
Following his directions, they quickly arrived at a rundown trailer home. No one seemed around.
“Is someone here in case you have a problem with your asthma?”
He climbed off, then handed her the helmet. “I can take care of myself, Sister. We have a phone, and I can call my mom at work.”
Somehow the assurance from this frail boy didn’t convince her. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, noting that his breathing seemed better, but was still labored. She didn’t want to leave unless he was out of danger.
“I’ll be fine once I take my afternoon pill. I had a chocolate bar, and chocolate doesn’t like me v
ery much—particularly with peanuts.”
“But sometimes the temptation is too much, huh?”
He smiled broadly. “You got it, Sister.” He paused, then looked at her, showing a little red on his cheeks that she knew came from embarrassment. “You did something nice for me, so now I’d like to do something for you. I’ve seen your motorcycle before. It used to belong to Bobby Gonzales. He said he was going to give it away to a guy he owed money to, then tell his dad about it later. Now Bobby is worried because his dad gave it away, and he can’t give the guy the motorcycle like he promised. From what I hear, the guy’s really angry, and wants the Harley.”
“Who’s the man wanting the bike?”
Timothy shook his head. “I can’t tell you, Sister. I wasn’t supposed to know about it anyway. I just heard it by accident. And Bobby knows I know. If word gets out, he knows where I live. Just be careful riding around after dark.” He glanced at Pax. “It’s a good thing you have that dog with you. He’s almost as dangerous as I am.” Timothy tried a tough expression, but it wouldn’t sell.
Sister glanced back at Pax. He was panting and his fangs gleamed.
‘Timothy, you have to tell me the man’s name, particularly if he’s as bad as you say.”
“He is bad, Sister, and please don’t tell anyone what I said. I can take care of myself at school, but I worry about my mom. And one more thing. Thanks for not calling me Timmy. I hate that stupid name.”
Sister Agatha watched the boy go inside, lost in thought. She was glad to hear the click as he locked the door behind himself. She wondered if his story about the motorcycle had just been something made up or misinterpreted by a lonely little boy. She didn’t think so, but there was clearly no way for her to substantiate it right now without putting someone else on the spot. If she told Reverend Mother the Harley was a source of danger, she’d be forbidden to use the motorcycle, and that would place an enormous hardship on the sisters who’d be left without any transportation at all. Maybe she could find a way to ask Mr. Gonzales about it when she checked up on the Antichrysler.
Bad Faith Page 10
