Bad Faith

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  She returned to the scriptorium immediately afterward and looked around. Joey was there alone, working in his usual slow motion way. “Where’s Frank?” she asked Sister Bernarda.

  “He said that he needed some fresh air, that the heat in here was making him edgy,” Sister Bernarda said quietly.

  “He’s always recommended a cooler room for the computers, but there’s nothing that can be done about that,” Sister Agatha said. The room wasn’t too bad so early in the day.Eighty degrees was pleasant by comparison to the heat in some other parts of the monastery. There were rooms like the bakery that went well over ninety despite the coolness of the monastery’s adobe construction. Working there in the summer was a true penance.

  Joey, who’d moved the computer chassis he was working on next to the open window to take advantage of the light and the breeze, continued what he was doing. “You really should listen to him, Sisters. Computers don’t work very efficiently in high temperatures.”

  “I’ll go to ask him what can be done,” Sister Agatha told Sister Bernarda.

  She went outside, suspecting that she’d have to soothe ruffled feathers. Working on a computer that was certain to malfunction in the middle of summer was bound to affect anyone’s good nature.

  Sister walked out to the parking lot and looked around for Frank, but he was nowhere to be seen. She circled around into the garden, but stopped when she heard angry voices just beyond the pyracantha hedge.

  Curious, she moved silently down the tall hedge toward the path. Through the gaps, she could see Sister Mary Lazarus and Frank Walters standing face-to-face. They appeared to be arguing.

  “Frank, you’re going to have to take some action. You already know Joey is undependable. You’ve got to cut him loose.”

  The anger she heard coming from Sister Mary Lazarus surprised her almost as much as the fact that the novice was lecturing a benefactor on his personal business.

  “The kid just needs some time to get his life figured out. Sure, he goofs off and gets into trouble. At his age, I did the same thing.”

  “Stop making excuses for him. He’s an adult now, and has to learn to stand on his own two feet.”

  “I really wouldn’t go there if I were you. You haven’t been doing that for years.”

  Stepping back, uncertain if she should make her presence known, Sister Agatha snapped a twig under her shoe. Frank looked her direction.

  “Excuse me. Am I intruding?” she said, approaching.

  Sister Mary Lazarus’s face went as white as her novice veil. “The heat got to Sister Ignatius and she left the bakery to take a break, so I came out here to get some fresh air before going back,” she managed weakly.

  “And then I ran into her, and we started talking,” Frank said. “I was the one who persuaded her to show me the grounds. I needed to cool off before going inside and tackling that computer again. I hope you understand.”

  “It sounded like you two were having an argument,” Sister Agatha said.

  Frank laughed. “Oh, Sister, that’s not arguing. She was expressing her opinion and I was doing the same. But now I better get back to work.”

  Sister Agatha looked at Sister Mary Lazarus, but waited until Frank was out of earshot to speak. “We do have rules, Sister,” she said. “You may be preparing to be an extern, but until you are no longer a novice you don’t go walking around and speaking with a monastery guest. Next time you need fresh air, you might try volunteering for something constructive, like helping Sister Maria Victoria prune the roses around the statue of the Blessed Mother. Sister is there right now, as a matter of fact.”

  She walked with Mary Lazarus to where Sister Maria Victoria was working. “Our novice would benefit from giving you a hand with the roses,” Sister Agatha said.

  “I’d welcome some help,” she said, handing Mary Lazarus some pruning shears and cotton gloves.

  They watched the novice for a moment as she began to work, then Sister Maria Victoria took Sister Agatha aside. “Our novice has come a long way, don’t you think?” she said with a chuckle. “I still remember a few months ago when she offered to help us as we worked in the garden during recreation.”

  Sister Agatha nodded somberly. “She had a terrible allergic reaction to something while she was weeding. Her poor hands were so swollen she could barely hold her breviary for days. I don’t think Sister Eugenia ever figured out what caused it.”

  “No, but look how accomplished she is now,” Sister Maria Victoria said. “We just have to make sure that she always wears a pair of work gloves.”

  “Sister, let our novice help you a while longer, then please ask her to return to the scriptorium.” She paused, then added, “How’s the quilted wall hanging coming along?”

  “We’ve been working very hard, but the small decorative stitches take a long time and are the hardest to do. That’s why I’m out here. I find I need a break every once in a while.”

  “Enjoy your break, Your Charity.” Leaving them to prune the roses, Sister Agatha hurried back to the scriptorium. She found Joey and Frank hard at work, or at least Frank was working hard, and Sister Bernarda was helping wherever she could, holding a part or finding the correct cable.

  Though Joey always seemed to follow Frank’s directions, he worked slowly, doing only as much as he was required to do. It was almost as if he were trying to prove to his dad that he wasn’t cut out for this type of work. She had long sensed tension between father and son, but unlike her outspoken novice she had never commented on it

  Sister Mary Lazarus returned to the scriptorium about twenty minutes later. Celia followed shortly afterward. While they all worked under Frank’s direction, Sister Agatha kept a subtle watch on Mary Lazarus and Frank. Their computer guru was making a point of not looking at the novice, but Mary Lazarus cast furtive glances at him frequently. Their behavior only served to raise more questions in her mind.

  Sister Agatha positioned herself close to one of the small front windows. If she sat just right, she could see the driveway from here and the phone was loud so she knew she could hear it from the scriptorium. Doing double duty as portress while working in the scriptorium was almost routine on some days.

  As the bells for Mass rang, Sister Bernarda gave Sister Agatha a worried look. Someone had to stay with Frank. To ask him to leave was unthinkable, particularly when they needed the machines so badly, and the upgrade work wasn’t yet finished. But Mass was difficult for any of them to miss. It balanced their day and focused their thoughts.

  “I’ll stay with Frank and his son, Your Charity. You and Mary Lazarus and Celia better get going,” Sister Agatha said.

  Sister Bernarda started to protest, but Sister Agatha signaled her to stop. Her offer hadn’t been altogether altruistic. She had a few questions she wanted to ask Frank when there were fewer people around.

  Bowing their heads, the three left for Mass.

  Sending Joey to the van for a part, Frank continued to work. “Tell me something, Sister,” he said, his eyes still focused on the power supply he was installing. “Do you favor the intruder theory?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Everyone who’s part of this monastery is completely trustworthy.”

  “Does the sheriff go along with that too?” he asked, finally turning to look at her.

  “I’m not really sure.” She held his gaze. “Now I’d like you to answer something for me. How well do you know Sister Mary Lazarus?”

  He smiled. “Great way to phrase it—not ‘do you know’ but ‘how well.’ “

  “I assumed from the unguarded way she spoke to you that you and she were old friends.”

  “I knew her before she became a nun,” he answered obliquely.

  There were a lot of questions she wanted to hammer him with, but she held back. It wouldn’t exactly be smart to antagonize their scriptorium’s sole and much-needed benefactor right now.

  Joey walked in just then, and Frank resumed working. Accepting
that her opportunity for questions had passed, at least for now, she opened her breviary and prayed as he worked.

  After about an hour, he looked up, and motioned for his son to start packing up their tools. “Okay. I think these should work now. But remember there may still be a few bugs in the system. I haven’t used new parts.”

  “Can we give them a test run now before you leave?”

  “Sure.”

  Sister Agatha scanned a page from her breviary, and waited. A perfect copy came up on the monitor, the file was saved, and they printed out the page. She repeated the test on the second computer. “They look perfect. In fact, I can see they work even faster than before.”

  “That’s the idea. I know you only use the other two for word processing, but I think you’ll find those will run smoother as well,” he said, then added, “Now that you’re all set up, Joey and I better go to the office. Let me know how things go, Sister, and if any glitches turn up.”

  She walked the men outside, then closed the parlor doors behind them. She was about to return to the scriptorium when she heard another vehicle driving up. A police unit was coming through the gate. Seconds later, she saw Tom Green emerge.

  As his gaze took in the grounds, his face was set and hard. She knew him well enough to know the sheriff was here on a mission, and he was bracing himself for an unpleasant task. Instinct told her to brace herself as well. None of them would like the news he was bringing today.

  12

  Sister Agatha opened the parlor door. “What can we do S for you, Sheriff?”

  “I’m taking Postulant Celia with me to the police station for questioning,” he said flatly.

  For a moment she stared at him in muted shock. “But I explained what that would mean to her. You can’t.”

  “I can as long as I’m wearing this badge,” he said tapping his chest. “Now bring the young woman here and call Reverend Mother and anyone else you want in on this.”

  “Are you charging her?”

  “Not yet. I just want her in for questioning.”

  “But why?”

  “I’ve followed every single lead I had, even those out in left field, such as students pulling a practical joke. But now, Celia, for several reasons, has jumped to the top of my list. I want her at the station where I can guarantee no one will interfere with her questioning. You can call an attorney and have him present during questioning if you want.”

  “If you haul Celia down to the police station, you’re going to choke the life out of this monastery. Word will spread, and even if she’s eventually cleared of suspicion, no one—including our benefactors—will ever trust any of us again.”

  “It can’t be helped.”

  “Since I handled the alb that day, too, I assume you’ll want me to go to the station as well?”

  “No. Celia’s the one I want. She fits the profile better. I’ve looked into her background. Her mother’s a fruitcake. There’s no telling what Celia’s really like inside.”

  “Celia’s mother is a very nice woman, not a fruitcake.”

  “She’s a religious zealot. We both went to high school with her, remember, when her last name was Chandler. She’s changed a lot since then. How long has it been since you visited Ruth Moore?”

  Sister Agatha didn’t answer because she didn’t want to admit it had been more than a decade. Ruth had dropped out of high school her senior year to have the baby, and, after that, their lives had gone in different directions.

  “That’s what I thought. I bet it has been years. Believe me, she’s changed. Really changed.”

  “Please don’t take Celia out of the monastery. If you do, you’ll undermine everything she’s worked for these last few months. Let’s make a deal.”

  “What do you mean, a deal?” The sheriff’s eyes narrowed.

  Sister Agatha knew Celia had a chance now. She’d better not blow it for her. “Interview her here, now, but through the grille. Except for the setting, would it be any different from questioning her at the station? You weren’t going to lock her in a cell first, were you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then we can do it here. What other requirements do you have?”

  “If I agree to interview her here instead, I want a guarantee that I can talk to her one to one—with her attorney present, of course, should she decide she needs a lawyer.”

  “That’s irregular, but I think it can be arranged. Have a seat, and let me talk to Reverend Mother. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She walked down the corridor and found Sister Bernarda in the scriptorium. She asked the extern to keep an eye outside in case anyone else came up to the parlor.

  “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” Sister Bernarda asked, quickly putting the manuscripts she was working on into the safe.

  “It’s not good,” she answered quietly. Seeing Sister Mary Lazarus and Celia had also returned and were working at the far end of the room, she lowered her voice until it became a barely discernible whisper. “What are they working on?”

  “A recipe archive for a magazine.”

  “That’s not terribly valuable. Instead of locking up their work as well as yours if you have to go to the parlor, do you think we could let them continue working? I know we’ll be violating the insurance rules if neither of us is present while they work, but we’re so far behind.”

  “All right. If I have to go, I’ll leave what they need out, and lock up the rest, particularly the valuable manuscripts, in the safe.”

  Leaving Sister Bernarda to her work, Sister Agatha approached the novice and the postulant. “We’d like you to keep working if Sister Bernarda has to step out to the parlor. We’ll leave what you’ll need to continue on your desks. The rest will be locked up as usual.”

  “If you leave the safe open, Mother Mistress, I can start on something else if Sister is delayed,” Sister Mary Lazarus suggested.

  “We can’t do that. Should you finish your current project, start working on the readings you’ve been assigned as part of your instruction,” Sister Agatha said.

  She saw frustration flash in Sister Mary Lazarus’s eyes but, without being reminded of her vow of obedience, the novice nodded. Sister Agatha went to the door, then stopped and looked back.

  If they only knew what lay ahead nothing else, including their deadlines, would seem quite so important. The clarity of mind all nuns needed, especially those in formation, was about to be shattered.

  Reverend Mother turned her back on Sister Agatha and faced the crucifix on the wall. “I don’t want any of our sisters taken out of the monastery. Not when we still have a legal leg to stand on. If they don’t have a court order authorizing them to remove her, Celia can be questioned right here.”

  “We really need to call an attorney, Mother. It’ll be for Celia’s protection, and ours too.”

  “I’ll make the necessary phone call myself. Tell Sheriff Green that if he’ll talk to Celia here in our monastery, we’ll do our best to meet his other conditions and not interfere.”

  Sister Agatha could hear the fear in Reverend Mother’s voice. The abbess had given her life to this monastery. She hadn’t chosen the office of prioress, she’d been elected to it, and would continue to hold it as long as she was needed in that role. But the weight of shouldering all the worries of running the monastery, particularly lately, could be seen clearly in the lines of fatigue on Reverend Mother’s face. The dark circles under her eyes suggested she wasn’t sleeping well.

  As Sister Agatha returned to the parlor, her thoughts turned to the other members of her order. If the monastery was forced to close down, she wasn’t sure the elderly nuns like Sister Clothilde or even Sister Gertie would survive the upheaval. The realization that the innocent would pay as much as the victim, or the guilty, made her heart ache.

  Somehow, she had to find the truth and then, together, they’d find the strength to deal with the aftermath.

  One hour later, John Bruno, an attorney provided by the archdiocese,
sat with Sister Agatha and Celia in the inner parlor.

  Bruno, preparing Celia, firmly advised her to answer the questions simply and to avoid volunteering any information. Celia had tried to reassure him that she was in no danger because she was innocent of any crimes, but he’d held firm and Celia had agreed.

  Once he felt Celia was ready, John Bruno went out to the outer parlor and met with the sheriff. Celia remained on the other side of the grille and waited for the men to come to her.

  Sister Agatha stood farther down the hall. She’d been ordered not to interfere, but she was afraid for the postulant. Yet, despite the circumstances, Celia seemed calm and remarkably self-possessed.

  Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness as Sister Agatha forced herself to retreat into the scriptorium and try to do some work while giving Tom the privacy he’d demanded. Everything about this seemed wrong. A postulant shouldn’t have been talking to outsiders, but the police business took precedence now.

  Trying to think of something that would help point the sheriff’s investigation back toward an intruder—the direction she firmly believed would lead to the killer—she mentally went over everything she remembered about the days leading up to, and including, the day Father Anselm died.

  She recalled that morning, before he arrived with the food donations, visualizing everything she’d seen or heard. Then she’d met with Sister Bernarda in the outer parlor.

  As she went over her routine, she suddenly recalled the enigmatic note she’d found in the turn. At the time she’d assumed it was simply a teenager facing a breakup, but now, knowing what had happened afterward, she wondered if perhaps the author of the note had given them an important warning—one much more ominous than she’d ever dreamed. The first time she got the chance, she’d have to tell the sheriff about that possibility.

  Finally, almost ninety minutes later, Celia came to get her and she put her thoughts about the note aside for the moment.