Bad Faith

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  “I saw a kid or two inside.”

  “More than a few were involved, believe me. Malcolm’s been doing business with some of the high school seniors. He’d find one needing money, maybe trying to raise enough for textbooks at the university next semester, or for fixing a broken-down car they needed for an after-school job. With Bobby Gonzales, it was for money he’d already borrowed but couldn’t pay back. His parents didn’t know about it. Malcolm would loan them the money—but it came with an exorbitant interest rate, like a loan shark. When they couldn’t square the debt fast enough, he’d offer them a deal—in lieu of breaking their fingers. The kids were forced to break into homes or cars until they stole enough merchandise to clear the debt— except, with the interest he kept charging, it never would have been cleared.”

  “I’m glad you were able to shut him down.”

  “So am I, but don’t ever try to deal with people like this man on your own again. You have no idea how much trouble you could have gotten into without some backup.”

  “I had Pax with me.”

  “If Malcolm had decided that you were a threat to him, he would have shot the dog first, then you, then dumped both your bodies out on the west mesa somewhere. There was a shotgun behind the counter in there.”

  He was so matter-of-fact about it that it chilled her to the bone.

  Just then two deputies led Malcolm outside, past Sister Agatha. Malcolm turned and snarled at her. “You’re no nun— you’re a cop, right? What you got under that outfit, a tape recorder?”

  For a moment, Sister Agatha thought he was going to spit at her, but in a heartbeat Tom stepped in front of her.

  “Try it and you’ll be sucking your supper through a straw for the next month,” Green said, his voice low. “She’s a nun—the real thing. Show some respect.” Green glanced at the deputy. “Get him out of here.”

  Malcolm sneered. “Hey, make sure your boys lock up the place after they leave. There have been a lot of thefts in this area lately.”

  As two more teens were led out of the pawnshop, Sister Agatha noticed that a television station’s van had arrived, and a camerawoman and a young reporter were moving in their direction.

  “What are you doing here, Sister? Are you part of the sting, or an undercover officer?” the reporter asked, then held up the microphone.

  “Don’t say a word,” Green told her quickly, then got into the reporter’s face. “This is a crime scene. You’ll have to step back until we cordon off the area. Then we can arrange for a briefing.”

  “I have an afternoon deadline. Just give me the bare bones. I saw the officers being briefed at the station, then followed them here. But I never expected to see a nun at the scene of a police raid. Is she a cop, or is she under arrest? And is she from the monastery? They sure seem to generate a lot of headlines lately.”

  “The sister has no relationship whatsoever to this case, so be careful what you print. I don’t think your station can afford to take on the Church in a lawsuit,” he warned.

  Turning his back on the reporter, Tom walked with her toward his car, which was parked beside the Harley. “You and Pax are coming back to the station with me. I need to get a statement from you, and then we’re going to talk about this stalker you’ve picked up.”

  “But I really have to get back to the monastery. Poor Sister Bernarda has been doing double duty lately—”

  “Save it. This isn’t open for negotiations.”

  She stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Sheriff, you haven’t changed. The hardest thing for you to give—is in. I’ll meet you at the station.” Sister Agatha swung onto the Harley, signaled Pax into the sidecar, and roared off.

  Once at the station, while Pax visited the deputies, most of them old friends, Sister Agatha spent the better part of an hour describing what had occurred each time she’d thought she’d seen someone tailing her. Of course, there wasn’t much she could tell him, and that didn’t improve the sheriff’s mood.

  “I thought it was Malcolm trying to intimidate me so I’d give him the Harley. But after talking to him, I’m not so sure about that anymore,” Sister Agatha said.

  “You didn’t expect him to confess, did you? He doesn’t admit to anything—even when you’ve nailed him. But this sort of thing is precisely why I didn’t want you to get involved in this investigation in the first place. It’s public knowledge now that you’re on the trail of the killer. The person following you in that sedan could be anyone—a reporter, a motorcycle nut after the bike, or even the killer himself.”

  “If it is the killer, why hasn’t he tried to harm me? I’ve been alone every time—except for Pax, of course.”

  “He may want to find out what you know first. Then, if he sees you as a threat, he’ll try to take you out next. The perp’s already killed once, so there’s very little to stop him from doing it again.”

  “I won’t back off—not until the monastery is totally in the clear.” On his desk was a photo of Tom, his wife, and two boys. Gloria had been a pretty, young, dark-haired woman. She was still pretty, but now she was apparently blond. She and Tom had two mischievous-looking boys. They looked happy. She felt a momentary twinge of nostalgia for what might have been hers.

  Tom leaned back in his chair. “Pax can only protect you to a point. When you two are out on the road in the Harley, his strength and speed are no help to you. And if the killer is armed …”

  “I’m not relying strictly on the dog. I’m also trusting God to help me so I can do what’s right.”

  “God helps those who help themselves.”

  “That’s not in the Bible.”

  “It’s in the Sheriff Green New Translation—coming soon on CD.”

  ‘Tom, I have to follow through on this. The monastery needs it to be settled. They’re counting on me and I can’t let them down.”

  He leaned forward and studied her expression. “You’re on the trail of something, aren’t you?”

  She started to deny it, but then stopped. She wouldn’t resort to lying to him or anyone else.

  “I knew it,” he said when she didn’t answer right away. “What have you found out?”

  “I have some suspicions, nothing more. If I learn anything you might find useful, I’ll let you know right away.”

  He nodded once. “All right. One more thing. If you see that sedan following you again, call me as soon as you can get to a phone. Don’t try to handle it alone like you did today.”

  “All right. Can I go back to the monastery now? I really have to talk to Reverend Mother as soon as possible. If the newspaper runs those photos of me at the raid, she’s bound to get some calls and I’d like to prepare her for that.”

  “Go ahead. But stay in touch, you hear?”

  “Loud and clear, Sheriff.” With a wave, she walked out of the station with Pax by her side and headed home.

  Today had sure turned out differently from what she’d planned. On the other hand, she knew more now than she had before. Tonight she’d call Suzi and arrange to meet her. Tomorrow, she’d visit Nazareth Hospital. With a little bit of luck, by the time she left there, she’d have more of the answers that had eluded her so far.

  15

  The bells rang shortly after daybreak signaling the start of Lauds. Sister Agatha, who’d already been up more than an hour, joined the others in chapel. Chanting the Divine Office during the predawn hours, then at daybreak, was something she looked forward to each day. With her daily excursions outside the monastery, she needed the strength and focus it gave her more than ever now.

  Seeing Tom Green so often these days was confusing. Apparently not all the feelings she’d had for him once had died. She’d thought they had—if they’d ever really existed at all. But now things just weren’t as clear, and it wasn’t just the stress they were all going through.

  Sister Agatha worked in the scriptorium until after Terce trying to catch up on the work that needed to be done. As the bells rang, Sister Agatha stood and went t
o their weekly chapter of faults. The birth of St. John the Baptist would be celebrated soon, and the sisters were asked to pray for his blessing on them and for his help. Bowing until their foreheads touched the floor, each nun accused herself of her failings before Reverend Mother and the others.

  When Sister Agatha’s turn came, she knelt before the abbess and followed the example the others had set. “At times, I get so angry, Mother! I want the ones on the outside to understand what we do here—and, more, to value it. But they seldom do and then I find myself resenting them.”

  “You must try to be more patient, child,” Reverend Mother answered. “You and Sister Bernarda carry a great burden because you’re the face and the voice of this monastery to the community. Anger plays no part in your service to God. This week I want your prayers to focus on those who have lost their way, who may need a patient word or a kind gesture to remind them that their souls are precious to God.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Sister Agatha retreated. The chapter of faults could be difficult, but it always left the sisters feeling renewed. It was like receiving a much-needed compass heading that never failed to get them back on the right course.

  After the other nuns left to fulfill their duties, she met with Reverend Mother. Thankfully, her duties as novice mistress had been reassigned to Sister Eugenia, who was doing a wonderful job.

  “Mother, I have to go to Albuquerque,” Sister Agatha said, and explained everything she’d learned about Celia so far and about the arrangement she’d made to meet her friend at Nazareth Hospital.

  “You may go, of course, if it’s necessary. But please take the car. I won’t worry nearly as much. I’d like you to stay low profile after yesterday’s incident. And I’m extremely concerned about you being followed.”

  “Mother, I wasn’t being threatened. Whoever they were always kept their distance—well, except for that time with the black pickup. But the sheriff told me Mr. Malcolm owns a truck of that color and strongly suspects it was him. Now that he’s in jail, he poses no danger to anyone. The person in the sedan, on the other hand, is probably just a reporter. That’s Sheriff Green’s theory and I agree.” She decided not to mention the other alternatives the sheriff had suggested.

  “I want you to take the station wagon, drive where there are plenty of other vehicles around, and be extremely careful in Albuquerque today, child. Also, take Pax with you.”

  “All right, Mother.”

  “You’ll come straight back as soon as you’re finished at Nazareth?”

  “I’d like to leave that open-ended, Mother. Depending on what leads I uncover, I may want to follow them up right away.”

  “All right, but report back to me as soon as possible. I’m going to delay speaking to Celia until after I’ve heard from you. And, child, be very careful.”

  Sister stopped by the scriptorium and saw Sister Bernarda working along with Celia and Mary Lazarus.

  “Sister Bernarda, I’ll need you to cover portress duty for me again today,” she said.

  Sister nodded. “Sister Gertrude will be keeping regular hours in the scriptorium so I don’t need to do double duty there and in the parlor. Sister Eugenia is now doing a wonderful job with the postulant’s and the novice’s instruction. And Sister Maria Victoria tells us that the work on the quilt is nearly done. Somehow, it’s all working out”

  “Praised be Jesus Christ!”

  “Now and forever.” Sister Bernarda took her away from the others, then in a hushed voice asked, “Are you any closer to finding out who killed Father Anselm?”

  “I’m making progress, but for every answer I uncover, I get three new questions. Once the answers catch up to all the questions, I’ll have the solution.”

  “May the Lord bless your work this morning, Sister.”

  “God reward you, Your Charity, for all you’ve done for us,” Sister Agatha said, meaning every word.

  As she walked out with Pax to the station wagon, she glanced back. Despite the high walls, the monastery itself was just a building. It was the strength of the sisters who lived there that made it a fortress.

  The Nazareth Hospital psychiatric facility in Albuquerque was less than an hour’s drive away. Driving the Antichrysler in the heat, without air-conditioning, and at the slow speed that was all the vehicle was capable of, was an exercise in patience. The car chugged along at forty-five miles per hour, making enough engine noise to wake the dead. But at least the muffler was no longer trumpeting like Joshua.

  Pax was standing beside her, his head hanging out the window, enjoying the wind on his face. She probably should have told him to sit but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. If she could have, she would have stuck her own head out the window—anything for some air!

  Before she’d even reached the city limits, she saw flashing lights behind her, and she pulled over. Sheriff Green came out of his unit and walked toward her.

  ‘What’s this? Skipping town?” he said, half jokingly.

  “I’ve got to go to Albuquerque on behalf of the monastery,” she answered, not ready to tip her hand just yet. “Have you managed to turn up anything new on Father’s murder?” Even saying the word “murder” left a bad taste in her mouth, but she looked at him steadily and waited for an answer.

  “My background check on Ruth Moore revealed that she has an extensive knowledge of herbs. Celia probably picked up a lot of information from her. Was that the lead you’re not ready to talk to me about?”

  “There are many people in the area who make use of herbal remedies,” Sister Agatha answered, avoiding the question. “I really wish I could convince you that Celia’s not the killer. Every instinct I have tells me that we should keep looking.”

  “That’s loyalty—an admirable trait, but it can really get you hung up during an investigation. Also, at the risk of sounding like a macho jerk, I have to say again that poison is a woman’s weapon.”

  “You’re right. That makes you sound like a macho jerk,” she said with a wry grin. “But come to think of it—”

  “Only you can get away with saying something like that. Just so you know.”

  “We’re on the same side, Tom, believe me.” As she glanced over his shoulder, she noticed a light-colored sedan parked off the side of the road about two hundred yards back.

  “We have the same goal, but we’re working from opposite sides of the fence because your own bias blinds you.” He frowned, noticing she was distracted.

  “The one thing you have to understand is this,” she said, looking directly at him. “I would no more shield a killer than I would stop being a nun.” As she looked away from him, she saw the vehicle was still there, a driver at the wheel.

  He turned his head to follow the direction of her gaze. “What are you looking at?”

  “The sedan sitting by the road. It reminds me of the one that was following Pax and me yesterday. Did you notice it behind you earlier?”

  “No, I was trying to catch up to you. But I’ll go back and see who it is.”

  “Too late. It’s already turning around and heading back toward Bernalillo.” She could see it had New Mexico license plates, but could not make out the code.

  “I’m gone. Later.” He ran back to his unit. His tires squealed as he swung the vehicle around and, sirens on, roared off in pursuit.

  Sister Agatha returned to the Antichrysler. Don Malcolm was in jail, so that ruled him out. As she thought about what had just happened, she wondered if perhaps this time, the person had been following the sheriff, not her. She was almost sure she would have noticed the sedan earlier if it had been tailing her.

  She tried to figure things out. If the sedan had followed the sheriff and her on separate occasions, then it seemed likely that the person in the sedan was a reporter, as Tom had suggested.

  Satisfied with that explanation for now, she continued on her way. She stayed on the slowest route to Albuquerque, taking Highway 313, passing through Alameda rather than using the interstate. She wasn’t stallin
g—the Antichrysler was. Whenever it went above forty-five miles an hour it screamed as if in pain. She tried to push it to fifty, wondering if the screamlike noise would go away on its own. But then Pax began to howl, so Sister Agatha had to resign herself to traveling at a snail’s pace.

  When they arrived at the hospital, Sister Agatha parked in the back of the large facility. Leaving Pax in the shade of a large cluster of pines outside the main entrance, she patted him on the head. “You behave and relax. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, leaving the leash tied loosely around the rear door handle.

  As arranged, Sister Agatha walked to the lobby, and asked for Suzi at the desk. Minutes later, she was directed to Suzi’s office in a rear section of the facility.

  Suzi, a middle-aged black woman with salt-and-pepper hair sat at her desk filling out some forms. Hearing footsteps, she looked up and smiled broadly. “Well, hi, stranger! It’s good to see you again.”

  Sister Agatha’s gaze fixed on the far wall. There in beautiful calligraphy was a quote from Ephesians. Live a Life Worthy of the Calling to Which You Have Been Called. She smiled. “That’s one of my favorite quotes, too.”

  “It helps keep me focused, particularly on days when things aren’t going well.” She leaned back and regarded Sister Agatha thoughtfully. “So what brings you here?”

  “I’m trying to track down some information on a former patient.”

  Suzi’s expression turned somber. “That’s going to be next to impossible. We have to respect confidentiality, for the patients and their relatives.”

  “What I want is less official—not necessarily something found in patient files.” She paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “It involves our newest postulant—Celia Clines. It’s absolutely crucial that we learn more about her. She’s going through a crisis now, and we just need to understand her a little better so we can help. We’ve learned she was here about thirteen, maybe fourteen years ago. She would have been about that same age, too, at the time.”