Bad Faith

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  “How did it go?” Sister Agatha asked quickly. Celia looked tired, but was still composed.

  “It was difficult Sheriff Green wanted to know things I couldn’t answer, like where monkshood grows, what my relationship to Father was … that kind of thing.” The postulant kept her head down while speaking.

  “And what did you answer?”

  “I don’t know where monkshood grows, but I can probably find out in any library. And Father was the parish priest in our community, so he heard my confession from time to time, but I don’t think you can call that a relationship,”

  “Was that all? Surely those few questions didn’t take such a long time,” she pressed.

  “The sheriff would focus on some aspect of my answer, then question me even harder. When I told him about confession, for example, he then asked me if I was afraid Father knew me too well.” She shook her head and sighed.

  “What did you say to that?” Sister Agatha studied her expression carefolly, but Celia remained calm.

  “I told him the truth. Some of the things I said to Father were very embarrassing, but everything was under the seal of the confessional, and I knew he’d never say anything.”

  “So you insisted that Father never made you nervous at all?” Sister Agatha challenged.

  “No, I couldn’t say that,” she answered. “The truth is that I was afraid that if he recognized me, he wouldn’t think I was worthy of being a member of this monastery. He wouldn’t have said anything, I know, but what worried me was that he might not be able to hide his feelings. The other nuns would eventually begin to wonder why he didn’t like me, and maybe start to question if I should be here at all. Since the entire monastery has to agree that my monastic vocation fits in with our order and with this community before I become a permanent member of this monastery, I was afraid that he would inadvertently make things difficult for me.” Celia met her gaze directly. “But I would never have harmed Father in any way.”

  Sister Agatha watched the postulant. Instinct told her that Celia was still holding something back.

  “Oh—I nearly forgot. Mr. Bruno asked that you join him in the parlor,” Celia said at last.

  “Go to the chapel, Celia. You need peace and prayer to refocus your thoughts. Ask the Lord to help us all.”

  As Celia left for the chapel, Sister hurried back to the parlor. John Bruno was waiting for her just inside the inner parlor. Although Mr. Bruno had been given permission to enter their enclosure, she knew it wasn’t something he did lightly. In this case, she suspected he wanted to say something to her before she saw the sheriff.

  As she approached him, his somber expression warned her that there was more bad news to come. “The sheriff has nothing conclusive on the postulant, but had enough probable cause to get a warrant to search the monastery itself, and not just the grounds.” Hearing the sound of vehicles coming down the drive, he went to the window. “Apparently he’s now ready to execute it. Go tell your abbess.”

  Sister Agatha hurried to get Reverend Mother. With every step, she tried to gather her courage. Failing, she stopped a few feet from Mother’s office and leaned against the wall, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. Despite her training, despite her efforts, she’d failed Reverend Mother and the sisters thus far.

  Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. Sister Agatha turned her head and saw Sister Ignatius smiling gently at her. Following the dictate that held that charity was to be valued above the rule of silence, the same dictum that allowed the infirmarian and her patients to speak freely, she leaned closer to Sister Agatha’s ear.

  “Your Charity, remember the story of Elisha. He was hopelessly outnumbered, and to mortal eyes his situation looked grim. But he knew he was safe with God and confidently assured his frightened servant, ‘Fear not; for there are more with us than with them.’ At that moment, his servant’s eyes were opened and he saw that chariots of fire were all around Elisha. So remember, my dear, no matter how it seems, with God on our side, we can’t be defeated. As a teacher of mine used to say, ‘One with God is always a majority.’ “

  Before Sister Agatha could draw in a steadying breath to reply, Sister Ignatius continued down the hall.

  Sister Agatha stood up straight and took a deep breath. With Sister Ignatius’s words ringing in her mind, she knocked lightly on Reverend Mother’s door.

  Sister Agatha told Reverend Mother what had happened.

  “Let them come, child. The rest of us will go to our stalls in chapel. There, secure in our own seats in choir, we’ll pray while they search to their hearts’ content. We’ll take our troubles to Him. Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament always brings us many graces. Can you and Sister Bernarda look after our visitors while they’re here?”

  “Mother, we’ll do everything in our power to stay with them each step of the way.”

  The search team descended like a plague of locusts—or cockroaches, depending on how charitable one felt. As they scattered, each going in separate directions, Sister Bernarda and she hurried to talk to John Bruno.

  “We’d like to go with them. Is that legal?”

  “You can’t interfere, but you can go with them, watch, and even take notes if you want.”

  Sister Agatha went with the teams that were searching the cells while Sister Bernarda accompanied the deputies looking in the scriptorium, the kitchen, and storage areas.

  Each nun’s assigned cell was searched thoroughly, including hers and Sister Bernarda’s. The deputies found nothing, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

  Outrage filled Sister Agatha as Sheriff Green searched Mother’s cell. Forced not to interfere, she watched him look beneath the abbess’s mattress, then study her writing pad. Finally he upturned the Bible on her table, scattering holy cards all over the surface.

  She stood aside, furious at what he’d done, yet unable to stop him. Prayers wouldn’t come until her anger subsided.

  Finally she followed him and the deputies to the postulant’s sleeping quarters. Sheriff Green led the search. He looked through the few possessions Celia had brought with her and found nothing of interest. Then, as he lifted the mattress, a small notebook fell to the floor.

  He read a few pages, then leafed through it some more.

  “Are you planning to keep that?” Sister Agatha asked coldly. Many postulants and novices kept journals, and Celia, from the looks of it, had been no exception.

  “I have a right to seize any books, papers, and records that may establish the identity of the killer. It’s in the warrant. In addition, I can confiscate any monkshood in herb or drug form or derivative thereof or paraphernalia that may point us to the killer.”

  He read a few more pages, then skipped to the last few entries. This time his expression changed and his concentration became focused on the page before him.

  “Celia was afraid of Father Anselm—it wasn’t as simple as she let on. Listen to this,” he said, and began to read.

  “ ‘Father could take away my dream. I belong in this monastery. God brought me here. I’m going to pray really hard until God tells me what I need to do.’ “

  Sister Agatha scoffed. “Come on, Tom, that scarcely screams premeditated murder. She was taking her problem to God. We all do that here.”

  “What if she thought God told her to punish the priest? A lot of confessed killers have testified that God spoke to them through little voices in their heads. Maybe Celia looked at it as a modern twist to the story of Abraham and Isaac. Remember that it’s unlikely the person who put the monkshood on the alb meant to kill anyone.”

  “Celia’s not crazy. She’s very devout and wouldn’t harm a soul.”

  “Get her and bring her to the parlor again. I have a few more questions.”

  Her heart hammering a mile a minute, Sister Agatha rushed to the chapel and went directly to Reverend Mother’s stall. Seeing her, the abbess rose and hurried out of the chapel with Sister Agatha.

  Once she’d been given permission, Sister Aga
tha took Celia to the parlor where they met Bruno and the sheriff.

  “I’d like Mother Mistress to stay,” the young postulant said quietly, looking at the sheriff.

  Sister Agatha looked at him. “I won’t interfere. You have my word.”

  “You’ve already spoken to me alone, Sheriff. I have nothing more to tell you now than I did then. Surely having Sister Agatha present won’t cause you to become distracted.”

  Sister Agatha had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. By appealing to his pride, the postulant had won the round.

  “Stay if you want, Sister—but I’ll handle the questioning,” he said, taking out a small tape recorder.

  “Of course,” Sister Agatha said.

  Tom placed the journal on the table so Celia could see it clearly. Then he brought out his handcuffs and placed them beside it. Sister Agatha had to bite her lip to keep from protesting the obvious attempt at intimidation. Bruno frowned, and shook his head, but Tom ignored him.

  Celia stared at the handcuffs and her journal, her jaw dropping slightly.

  “Did you get your answer from God when you prayed about your problem with Father Anselm? Were you told to punish him?”

  “No, of course not! I had planned to talk to Father, that’s all.”

  “But you were alone with the alb. Did you place the poison on the collar?”

  “I was sewing it. That’s all. If I’d put something so dangerous on the alb, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near it. Why would I risk getting that stuff on my hands?”

  “As a smoke screen, or to misdirect the police?”

  A tear ran down Celia’s cheek, but she wiped it away quickly. “You’re so determined to believe I’m guilty that you’re not really listening to anything I say.”

  “You’re still playing games, Celia. Just like your mother always said you did.” He stood and leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. “How about the truth this time? For once in your life?”

  Celia began to shake. “My mother doesn’t know a thing about me. She never did,” she whispered. “I’ve told you the truth.”

  John Bruno stood. “And that’s the end of this interview, Sheriff. I’m not letting you badger my client, or intimidate her with that cheap handcuff trick. If you want to bring charges against my client, do so. I’ll have her out on bail by the time you finish booking her. And then we’ll talk to the district attorney, and maybe even the state attorney general about your tactics.”

  “I don’t have all the evidence I need to make an arrest yet,” Tom said, his voice low, hard, and cold. “But I will get it. And when I do, I’ll be back.” His eyes focused on Celia. “Being a nun won’t keep you out of prison if you killed Father Anselm.”

  Sister Agatha went to Celia’s side and led the postulant out into the corridor. She could feel the young woman shivering, though it was close to eighty degrees in this part of the monastery right now. “Go back to chapel. I’ll be there shortly.”

  As Celia walked away, John Bruno came up to the grille. “The sheriff wants to talk to you now. I think I should stick around.”

  “Fine, but it’s the sheriff who’ll need protecting, not me,” she said, then took a deep breath, bringing her temper under control. “Let’s go.”

  As she reentered the parlor, Sheriff Green’s eyes focused on her. “I have only one question for you, Sister. Did you know about Celia’s problem with Father Anselm?”

  “I knew nothing for sure,” she said, heeding Bruno’s advice and keeping it simple.

  “But you had your suspicions. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  “Don’t answer that until we talk, Sister.”

  She glanced at Bruno and shook her head. “I’ll go ahead and answer.” Sister Agatha looked back at the sheriff. “Tom, I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. I wasn’t withholding evidence. There was nothing to discuss except an incident I’d witnessed between Father and Celia—and that happened after I found Celia sewing the alb. Until that moment, Celia and Father Anselm had never actually met face-to-face.” She gave him the details about the encounter with the food delivery.

  “That couldn’t have been their first meeting. They must have seen each other prior to that. Doesn’t she go to communion every day?”

  “I don’t think he ever noticed her. It’s one thing to see someone on the outside, and another to see a postulant in her veils as you’re giving communion to a line of nuns who come up to an opening in the enclosure grille. And during confession, there’s a screen between the priest and the penitent.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “Think about this, Tom. It doesn’t add up. Why would Celia have tried to make Father Anselm sick? It would have served no purpose. Father wouldn’t have broken the seal of the confessional no matter what Celia had told him in the past.”

  “But we only have her word that everything that passed between them was under the seal of the confessional. Father Anselm isn’t in a position to contradict anything.”

  John Bruno held up one hand. “All you’ve got is speculation. The monastery has done all you asked. That’s enough for one day.”

  “There is one more thing I need to tell you,” Sister Agatha added before the lawyer could usher Tom out of the building. “I didn’t think it was important at the time it happened. But now, under the circumstances, I believe it may be. I remembered it while you were questioning Celia,” Sister Agatha said. “I think you should hear this, too, Mr. Bruno.”

  The lawyer shrugged. “All right. One more thing.”

  “With everything that happened since Father Anselm died, this had slipped my mind. But I realize now that it could have been connected directly to the person who harmed Father.” She proceeded to tell Sheriff Green about the note in the turn, the one that had suggested someone was about to be hurt.

  “Where’s that note now?”

  “It was thrown away after the requested prayers were offered the night of the murder. But it came through the turn, which means that someone on the outside left it there. This may be linked to the intruder we suspect caused Father’s death.”

  “Tell me what you remember about the note, and give me the wording exactly as you remember it.” Green brought out his notebook, and she complied as well as she could.

  “This may or may not help the case against the postulant. Unless we can track the note back to the author, and find a new motive for the crime, nothing has changed,” he warned.

  “Except it raises doubts about the direction your investigation is going in,” Sister Agatha answered. “The postulant isn’t permitted in the outer parlor.”

  Sheriff Green shrugged, reaching for the doorknob. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  John Bruno waited until the sheriff left. “You handled him well, Sister, and that piece of new information about the note may help muddy his trail of evidence, too. But be careful. He’s got the reputation for being like a pit bull when he’s on a case. He’ll play with your head.”

  “Maybe, but it’s hard to confuse someone who’s telling the truth. That’s our best defense.”

  He smiled. “And it’s a good one.” He paused. “But your postulant does have some secrets she’s not telling, Sister. I’ve been practicing law for too many years not to know when someone is holding things back.”

  “I’m certain that it’s nothing that will implicate our postulant in Father Anselm’s murder. But I’ll find out what’s going on. Or, if I can’t, Reverend Mother will. You can count on it.”

  Sister Agatha let John Bruno out, then went directly to Reverend Mother. After telling her what had happened, including the information about the note in the turn, the abbess went with Sister Agatha to join Sister Bernarda, who was waiting in the hall outside the chapel.

  “The cells need to be straightened up,” Sister Agatha reported.

  “The same holds for the kitchen and the infirmary. The provisory,” Sister Bernarda said, using the nuns’ term for the pantry, “is in the worst shape of all. Food is everywher
e. Sister Clothilde will have a fit when she sees it.”

  She was about to suggest that they gather Celia and Sister Mary Lazarus and try to make things better before the nuns returned from chapel, but a soft murmur beginning to rise from the corridor told her it was already too late.

  Here, that murmur was the equivalent of a roar. Silence soon settled over them again as Reverend Mother signaled they could leave chapel. Without saying another word, the nuns formed teams and began to work quickly to restore order to their house.

  With the exception of stopping for the Liturgy of the Hours, they worked tirelessly. By the time the period for Manual Labor was over the monastery showed no evidence of the sheriff’s visit.

  Knowing that all of them needed to connect with the One they served now, both Sister Bernarda and Sister Agatha locked the parlor doors and attended Vespers. This time would be set aside for the sisters, their monastery, and God.

  Afterward, strengthened, the nuns took up their routine tasks, trying to set the earlier confusion aside once and for all. Sister Agatha looked around for Reverend Mother and found her outside, rosary in hand, Pax by her side.

  The dog had adopted all of them now, and he seemed to be acquiring the ability to find those who needed his company the most.

  “Praised be Jesus Christ, Mother,” Sister Agatha said as she approached.

  “Now and forever.”

  “Mother, I’d like your permission to visit Ruth Moore, Celia’s mother. It’s clear that Celia is holding something back that concerns her past life, something that is deeply disturbing to her. I don’t think that it’s anything to do with Father’s death, but I’d still like to know what it is. And Mr. Bruno feels it’s important as well. I think the time’s come for me to go and speak to Ruth directly.”

  “Godspeed, then. But take Pax, child. Celia’s home, I was told by Celia herself, is in an unsavory part of town.”

  “I’ll do that, Reverend Mother.”

  Without waiting for Sister Agatha to call him, Pax stood and went over to her. He then followed her, staying close beside her, as she walked down the path that led to where the Harley was parked.