“With what I know about Mrs. Moore now, it’s hard for me to sympathize with her. She’s made her daughter Betsy’s life as miserable as her own. Of course, since people confide in me all the time, I’ve learned that happens more often that we like to think,” Lenora said somberly. “Fortunately, things can turn around sometimes. You’ve got a good example of that right in your own monastery.”
“Excuse me?”
“Anita Linney … I mean Sister Mary Lazarus. Her marriage was a disaster, though she stuck to it for over ten or fifteen years, in perfect faith. After her husband passed away, she was finally free to follow her heart but, by then, it was too late for her and her first love to get together again. Lucky for her she found her calling. Otherwise, she might have ended up like Ruth, bitter and lonely.”
“I never knew about all that.”
“Well, I guess it was after your time. I mean they were at least four years behind you in high school. But it’s no great secret. Anita and Frank Walters were close in high school, but Frank didn’t want the responsibility of marriage, so she settled for second best. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out very well. After her husband died, she tried to rekindle the flame with Frank, I heard. But Frank’s still not the marrying sort. He never even married Joey’s mom.”
“Do you think Sister Mary Lazarus entered the monastery because she gave up on Frank?” If that was the case, Sister Agatha could finally understand why their novice had not found happiness at Our Lady of Hope. The monastery wasn’t for people running away from something. It only filled the hearts of those turning toward God.
“Honestly? I don’t know. There was a lot of gossip at the time, some of it just wild speculation that I didn’t want to listen to, but Sister Mary Lazarus and God are the only ones who know the truth for sure.”
After Lenora left, Sister Agatha stood up and went to the computer set up on a small cart against the wall. Using the monastery’s password, she checked diocesan records for Betsy’s birth, and then for her baptismal records, but both recorded only Ruth as Betsy’s mother.
She turned off the computer and leaned back in her seat. Something wasn’t right. But there was only one way to find out more, and that was to visit Nazareth Hospital in Albuquerque, less than forty minutes away. She knew a former nun who worked there now. Maybe Suzi would be able to help her.
Sister Agatha stood up, ready to return the file to Patsy, when Timothy Johnson came in with a note addressed to the school secretary.
“Hey, Sister Agatha. Whatcha working on?”
“Just looking for a few pieces of information,” she said vaguely, keeping Betsy’s file close to her so he couldn’t see the name on it.
“Is Pax with you?” he asked.
She gestured to the corner. Pax was lying underneath the air conditioner vent enjoying the cool breeze.
“Smart dog. It’s pretty hot out there today.”
“How’s the search for monkshood going?” she asked. Right now she needed to get him thinking like a team player. It would help her get him into the proper mind frame before she asked her next question.
“We haven’t found any more plants, Sister. But we haven’t given up.”
“If you do find a good stand of monkshood plants, especially if it looks like some have been cut back or pulled up, make sure you let me know right away. You can either call the monastery, or if it’s after parlor hours and you’re in the neighborhood, you can always leave a note in the turn.”
“The nun’s drive-up window?” Seeing her nod, he continued. “I’ve heard the kids use it to leave prayer requests.”
As she thought about it, she realized that they hadn’t received any requests lately. Like Mass attendance, requests had dropped considerably.
‘Timothy, I really need your help. Will you give me the name of the man who thought he was going to get Bobby Gonzales’s Harley—the one the monastery owns now?”
He looked around nervously. “Sister, you shouldn’t talk about that here. What if somebody comes in?”
“I give you my word that no one will ever know you told me. Look at it this way—if you can’t trust a nun, who can you trust?”
He hesitated. “Sister, I’ve heard this guy’s really bad news.”
“I’ll be careful, but I’ll be safer if I know who he is. Won’t you help me?”
He considered it for a long moment, looked around again, then selected a small piece of scrap paper and wrote something down on it “All right. It’s one of the names on this paper, but I need to be able to swear I didn’t tell you, so you’ll have to figure out which one it is for yourself. After you finish, destroy the paper. Don’t leave it here.”
She looked down at the paper. The first name on it was George Washington, the second St. Jude, and the third was Don Malcolm. She nodded, and wadded up the paper before placing it in her pocket.
He dropped his voice to a whisper. “He owns a pawnshop here in Bernalillo, and I heard somebody say once that he owns an adult book place, too.”
Sister Agatha had heard of Malcolm as well. He sometimes let farmers pawn items during drought years, when times were hard, then charged them excessive fees when they came to get their valuables back. Father Anselm had mentioned Don Malcolm to her a few times. One of his elderly parishioners had paid for her husband’s funeral with her diamond engagement ring, and Father had tried to get it back for her, but hadn’t been able to do so because of the high interest tacked on to the redemption fee.
“Thanks, Timothy.”
“I better get to class. You might want to burn that paper at the monastery with a candle, just to be on the safe side.”
On her way out, Sister Agatha stopped by Patsy Romero’s office and returned the file. After saying good-bye, she left the building with Pax by her side, and drove over to the rectory. She hoped Father Rick would be willing to give her some sort of authorization to go through the records at Nazareth Hospital so she wouldn’t have to ask her friend Suzi to bend the rules for her. And it wouldn’t hurt to get a little more information on the place before she actually approached anyone there. At the moment, all she knew was that it was a psychiatric facility.
As Pax left with Frances to the kitchen, she joined Father Rick who was in his office working on Sunday’s homily. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about Nazareth,” he explained in response to her request, “and I have no authority to permit you to access their records. But Father Thomas Mullins, the chaplain there, is a friend of mine. He may be able to tell you whatever you need. But I warn you—Father Thomas is a stickler for rules, so don’t expect him to cut corners for you.”
Unfortunately, that was exactly what she needed. “Thanks, Father Rick.”
Just as she was ready to leave, someone knocked on the front door. She glanced around and, not seeing Frances, decided to answer it herself.
“Sister Agatha! What are you doing here?”
Sister Agatha suddenly found herself face-to-face with Joan Sanchez, who was dressed much more conservatively than the last time they’d met. It was easy to see from Joan’s face that she hadn’t slept much lately. Sister Agatha thought of Reverend Mother, who had shown signs of the same affliction. Father Anselm’s death was sparing no one.
“Is Father Rick around?”
“Yes. Come in,” she invited, then showed her to the couch. “Joan, are you all right?” she asked softly.
Tears immediately filled the woman’s eyes, and she clutched her small purse so tightly her knuckles turned white. “No. I’m in a mess, Sister. People are saying that I killed Father Anselm. Father was the only person who was ever kind to me in this petty little town. Why would anyone think I would hurt him?”
“One of the things that small towns excel at is gossip. It’ll die down. Don’t worry.”
“But Sheriff Green thinks I’m guilty, too. He keeps coming around, asking questions about Father Anselm and me.”
“Don’t take it personally. We’re all getting questions from hi
m these days. He’s just doing his job—trying to piece everything together so he can figure out what really happened.” Charity demanded that she keep her thoughts to herself, but it was a tremendous relief for her to find out that Tom was still looking outside the monastery for answers.
Joan looked at Sister Agatha. “The thing is that I want to move and start out fresh someplace, but the sheriff’s told me not to leave town. As long as I’m a suspect, it could look bad for me. Can you talk to him? I’m not guilty of anything. I shouldn’t be treated like a criminal.”
“All he wants is to find whoever killed Father Anselm. My talking to him on your behalf won’t help you. He’ll just see it as interference. If you feel you’re not being treated fairly, talk to him about it face-to-face. Asking someone to speak on your behalf is likely to make him more suspicious. I know Sheriff Green. When he’s working, he can come across as very cold and impersonal, but his heart is in the right place.”
Father came in just then, and Joan repeated her request, asking him to help her.
“I can’t. That’s a police matter, not Church business,” Father Rick said gently. “Perhaps you need to consult an attorney, who would know more about these matters than I do.”
She stood up abruptly. “I should have known this was a waste of time. Both of you think I killed Father Anselm, too. Well, fine. Be that way.”
Joan stormed out, leaving the door wide open before either Father or Sister could say a word.
“That went well,” Father said, his wry smile softening his sarcasm as a car roared down the drive.
“She’ll calm down,” Sister said, closing the door. “And if she asks anyone else who knows Sheriff Green, they’ll tell her the same thing I did.”
“If she’d asked me for anything else, I would have done my best to help her, but I can’t tell the sheriff how to do his job. As it is, I’m going to be on shaky ground when I meet with him tomorrow. The question I need answered may be privileged information, but I’d really like to know if he thinks Father Anselm’s murder was a crime committed against him specifically, or if it was motivated by what he stood for. I can take care of myself, mind you, but there are a lot of people that I come in contact with, such as the housekeeper, altar boys, the choir, and all the parishioners. I wouldn’t want to see anyone else end up as a victim if there’s an attack on me.
“I know you must be worried because you’re replacing someone who was murdered,” she said softly, her heart going out to him. “But all the sisters will be keeping you in their prayers.”
“I appreciate that.”
She left the rectory a moment later feeling troubled. From the evidence, she doubted that whoever had killed Father An-selm had a grudge against priests in general, but the truth of the matter was that she just didn’t know enough yet to rule anything out, and she suspected Tom Green didn’t either.
She and the dog were walking over to the motorcycle at the curb when suddenly Pax stopped and looked off into an alley to the north, growling.
She looked in the direction he was staring, caught a brief glint of chrome, then heard a car drive off in the opposite direction.
She took a deep breath. Someone was following her. Visiting Nazareth Hospital could wait a little longer while she sorted things out here. Now that she thought about it, it would be better to call Suzi first and find out when she’d be available. Meanwhile, it was noon and in the light of day she felt decidedly brave. If Don Malcolm was haunting her because of the motorcycle, it was time she got that matter settled once and for all. He could have the valuable collector’s motorcycle—if he was willing to donate good, reliable transportation to the monastery—a new car, for example. Reverend Mother was sure to approve of that, and as much as she loved the Harley, the monastery’s needs came first.
“Let’s go, Pax.” The big white German shepherd jumped effortlessly into the sidecar.
Sister drove to the south end of Bernalillo and approached Malcolm’s Pawnshop, located in an area with numerous trucking firms and industrial operations. The graveled parking lot contained three late-model sports utility vehicles and a van. Apparently either Mr. Malcolm’s business was booming, or else he attracted prosperous customers.
Parking the motorcycle near the entrance, she went inside with Pax at heel. The store, to her surprise, had very little inventory, and most of that seemed to be gathering dust. But there were sounds of activity from a back room.
A large, dark-haired man in a colorful tropical print shirt stared at her and Pax openly. “You’re in the wrong place, Sister. This isn’t a veterinarians’s office, you’re not blind, and I’m not Catholic. Hell, I’m not even a Christian most of the time. So you’re out of luck if you’re looking for a rabies shot for Snowball, or a handout.”
“I know exactly where I am, and I want to speak to Mr. Malcolm.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re talking to him now.”
“Mr. Malcolm, I’ve heard that you think the Harley-Davidson motorcycle and sidecar that was donated to the monastery should have gone to you.”
“You know about that, do you? Well, the Gonzales kid owed me some serious money. That’s why he offered his wheels in exchange for canceling out his debt. But hey, no problem. Since I didn’t get the bike, he’ll just have to either raise the cash or work off his debt some other way.”
“Since he’s a minor, perhaps you should speak to his parents about it.”
“Sister, I don’t need a nun telling me my business. Now, unless you’re here to turn over the bike to save Bobby’s butt, it’s probably best if you leave.”
She took a deep breath. Don Malcolm had the kind of personality that grated on her nerves as much as screeching chalk on a blackboard, but she wouldn’t let him get to her. “I actually came to make you an offer. If you’re really that interested in the Harley, the monastery might be willing to sell it to you, or exchange it for suitable transportation—like a new car. Maybe a van or truck like one of those outside now.”
He burst out laughing. “I’m supposed to buy you a new car for the chance to get a bike that, by all rights, should have been mine in the first place? Do I look like I just fell off the pumpkin truck, Sister?”
She was thinking that he looked like he’d just been run over by the pumpkin truck, but she couldn’t say it. Instead, she gave him that special stare that nuns had perfected over the years to squelch any disrespect.
Malcolm never even flinched.
“You could think of it as doing a good deed for the monastery, and you’d still get something very valuable out of it. That Harley is a collector’s item, you must know that already.”
“Good deeds get you nowhere, Sister. I learned that a long time ago. Take the bike—for now.”
“What about Bobby Gonzales’s debt?”
Malcolm shrugged. “He’s working it off.”
At that moment a teenaged boy in baggy clothes, with a baseball cap on backward, came out of the back room. “We have some new merchandise that just came in.”
Sister Agatha only caught a glimpse when the boy opened the door, but the back room was filled with video games, VCRs, stereo components, and even some computers.
Malcolm saw her trying to get a better look and motioned to the teen, who ducked back inside, quickly closing the door.
“Sister, don’t you have a soul to save someplace? I’m already going to hell.”
“Perhaps not. We need to talk, Mr. Malcolm. I don’t like the idea of a boy as young as Bobby owing you so much money.”
“Sister, life’s a… rough. Get used to it. Now you better take off. I have work to do.” He took a step around the counter toward her, but Pax stood up quickly and bared his teeth.
“My dog gets very nervous when people exhibit behavior that he considers threatening, sir,” she said.
He stepped back. “Just go away, Sister. We’re both wasting time.”
She turned to leave, keeping the man in sight as she walked toward the door with Pax at her s
ide. Suddenly three sheriff’s cars and two state police cars raced into the parking lot, two heading around toward the back.
Malcolm ran for the side door, but before he could reach it, four uniformed and heavily armed officers rushed the door, weapons raised. “Hands up where we can see them,” one shouted. “This is a raid.”
Pax growled, and one of the officers yelled, “Rex, guard!” Pax recognized his former keeper and stood alert beside Sister Agatha, watching a state policeman in his charcoal gray uniform. All the sheriff’s deputies wore khaki.
A moment later, Sheriff Green came into the front room from the back, holding a shotgun. “We’re secure, sir,” a deputy said.
Tom quickly took in the room. “What in the name of—” Moving quickly, he took Sister Agatha’s arm and started to lead her out, but Pax growled and bared his teeth.
“It’s okay, Pax, easy,” Sister Agatha said quickly. “He’s still a friend—I think.”
Tom released her, but cocked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Sister Agatha, Pax, and the sheriff hurried outside while the other officers searched the store.
“What the heck are you doing here?” he demanded. “Did the monastery send you to pawn something to raise money?”
“No. I came to find out if Don Malcolm was the one who has been following me.” She gave him a quick recap, describing the light-colored sedan, which had never gotten close enough for her to identify, and reminding him about the black pickup she’d already told him about.
“Malcolm owns a black pickup, so I think he’s probably the one who went after you. I’ll try to find out for sure when I question him. I have no idea about the sedan, but I’ll look into it.”
“Is that why you’re here—following up on the black pickup?”
He shook his head. “After you told me about Bobby’s problem, I went to speak to him and his parents. Malcolm had been leaning on Bobby pretty hard, and had the kid scared spitless. I convinced him that we would protect him if he’d testify, so he agreed to cooperate with us. I knew Malcolm had a huge fencing operation but, until now, I hadn’t been able to prove it.”
Bad Faith Page 19
