Bad Faith
Page 32
“Pax, out!” Sister Agatha ordered, cradling her aching hand.
The dog released the man’s arm and backed away a step, still growling and barking fiercely.
“That dog almost tore my arm off! And then the nun punched me. I’m bleeding.” The man raised up from his face down position, trying to get to his knees with just one arm for support. Pax moved closer, his teeth bared.
“Lie down, or the dog will attack again. Your throat is still intact, so quit whining,” Tom Green said, handcuffing the thief. “We’ll have a doctor look at your injuries once you’re in lock up.”
Sister Agatha looked at the robber and struggled not to cringe. There was more blood coming from his nose where she’d punched him than from the arm Pax had bitten, or perhaps his torn sleeve hid most of the damage. Guilt made her insides hurt nearly as badly as her lingers did.
“Nice jab, Sister Agatha,” Tom Green said. “Remind me never to get you angry.”
Sister exhaled softly and muttered a quick prayer for forgiveness. “I shouldn’t have hit him. I just wanted to protect Pax.” She looked down at her sore knuckles.
“Insider tip, Sister. You might want to put some ice on those knuckles before they start to swell,” Tom said, a smile touching the corners of his mouth.
Mrs. Chavez came rushing out of the restaurant. “Sister Agatha, you were wonderful! I wish I had a punch like yours. You and your dog stopped him in his tracks.”
Sister Agatha gave the restaurant owner a thin smile. Her hand hurt like the devil now. Maybe that was her punishment for resorting to violence.
Forty-five minutes later Pax and she arrived at the monastery. The robbery and its aftermath had made it impossible for her to complete the rest of her errands. She needed to report the incident to Reverend Mother as soon as possible.
Sister Agatha passed through the open iron gates that allowed entry to the walled compound, and drove slowly around to the side of the former barn where she normally parked her motorcycle. To her surprise, she found a long black sedan nestled there in the shade. Curious to see who’d come, she left Pax outside and hurried in through the back door.
When she finally reached the parlor, Sister Bernarda closed the book she’d been reading on the life of Saint Teresa of Avila and met her gaze. “I’m glad you’re back, Your Charity,” she said. “Reverend Mother has been asking for you. Archbishop Miera is here.” Her Marine drill sergeant tone was a little more subdued than usual.
“And they want to talk to me?” She wondered if Reverend Mother had already heard about the incident in town. But, then again, that didn’t explain the archbishop’s presence. His residence was too far away for him to have come to the monastery for that.
“I’ll go right now.” Sister Agatha handed Sister Bernarda the list of places that had donations for the Mendozas ready to be picked up. “Could you call these businesses and let them know that one of us will be by tomorrow to pick up the money?”
“I’ll take care of it.” Sister Bernarda said, then looking worried, added, “Not long after His Excellency arrived, I was asked to pack up your things. Your bag is behind the desk over there, all ready.”
“Ready for what? Where am I going?” She didn’t like this at all.
“I have no idea, but you’ll find out when you see Reverend Mother.” When Sister Agatha didn’t move, the older nun added, “Right now would be a good time.”
Dread filled her as she went down the silent corridor of the enclosure to Reverend Mother’s office. In times of need, any sister could be asked to go and become part of another monastery, and their vow of obedience would make refusal out of the question. But even the thought of leaving Our Lady of Hope filled her with sadness. Our Lady of Hope was a vital part of her—and she of it. She belonged here.
As she drew near Reverend Mother’s door, Sister Agatha froze, unable to take another step. What if she never came back?
A minute went by before Reverend Mother came out into the hallway. “I thought someone was out here,” she said, then added, “Child, what on earth are you doing just standing there?”
Reverend Mother called each of the sisters “child”—the age of the person made absolutely no difference. Elderly Sister Clothilde was “child” to Mother just as much as their young postulant, Celia.
“I heard footsteps, but when no one knocked or came in, I began to wonder if someone had ascended,” she said with a smile, clearly trying to put Sister Agatha at ease. “Come in. There’s nothing to be uneasy about.”
Sister followed and, obeying Reverend Mother’s gesture, sat down.
Archbishop Miera had made himself comfortable in one of the larger oak chairs across from Reverend Mother’s desk. He seemed very relaxed, sipping a cup of the monastery’s special blend of tea. The small plate beside him held several of Sister Clothilde’s famous Cloister Cluster cookies.
“I have some very exciting news for you, Sister Agatha. Our archbishop has come here specifically to ask us for your help.”
Curious, Sister Agatha’s gaze turned to the archbishop. His Excellency was a tall man, around six foot two, and he was fit for a man in his mid-sixties. Today, he was dressed in a black suit with a clerical collar, but even in this simple, familiar setting, Archbishop Miera projected authority easily, like most men who wore the mantle of responsibility with grace.
“He would like you to travel to the former Monastery of Saint John in the Pines,” Reverend Mother continued. “There’s a problem there that requires your unique background and skills.”
“I would be honored to help His Excellency,” Sister Agatha answered formally. “But I’m not familiar with that monastery. You said it closed down?”
“Yes, Sister,” the archbishop answered. His clear, demanding voice made a person want to listen. “The few remaining brothers there were sent to another community, and the church sold the monastery property two years ago. The new owners subsequently turned it into a private inn called the Retreat, which is becoming a popular site for hosting workshops. But the Church retained one connection to the place.
“The owners, you see, wanted to maintain the feel and look of an eighteenth-century monastery so, although the amenities have been modernized, the place hasn’t changed much to the casual eye. And that, in a roundabout way, is why I’m here. You helped the monastery and the diocese a few months ago with a very serious matter. I’m told you have excellent investigative skills, and I now need you to put those skills to work for the church again.” He looked somberly at Reverend Mother, then at Sister Agatha. “Everything I say from this moment on has to be kept in the strictest of confidence.”
“Of course, Your Excellency,” Reverend Mother replied quickly.
Sister Agatha nodded, and waited. What an interesting day this was turning out to be!
“Ernesto Luna, the owner of the Retreat, is having a problem—which has become ours, as well. Statues and folk art of a religious nature, some made by the monks who used to live there, have apparently been disappearing—and reappearing—at the Retreat.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Why is this the church’s problem? And did you say ‘apparently’?” Sister Agatha asked.
He nodded. “Although we sold the monastery, the church has allowed Mr. Luna to rent the art work and display it because some of statues were objects of great devotion for the parishioners in that area. We kept up the insurance costs, of course, but. those have risen dramatically in the past few months, so we’d made plans to donate the collection to the local college’s museum. But Ernie thinks that some of the art has been replaced with very good copies, and now isn’t sure which of the pieces are authentic. We discussed the problem, then decided to call in an expert and verify the authenticity of the entire collection. Professor Richard Lockhart, who’s the curator of the museum, asked for permission to take a few pieces back to his lab for testing. But he disappeared, along with the items in his possession, after leaving the Retreat. His car was found abandoned by the side of the r
oad not far from there and he hasn’t been seen for two days.”
“The police are searching for Professor Lockhart, I assume?” Sister Agatha asked, then seeing him nod. “Do the authorities know about the problem with the art collection?”
“Only that Lockhart had two pieces with him when he disappeared. But Sheriff Barela, who’s handling the case, apparently has his hands full just trying to locate the missing professor. He hasn’t mentioned the collection to me at all, so I don’t know what’s on his mind.”
Sister Agatha nodded, lost in thought. Maybe Lockhart was working with the thieves, or had an idea who they were and they found out. But she didn’t want to voice those unsubstantiated suspicions yet.
“At this point, I’m not sure what to think,” the archbishop said. “While the sheriff searches for the professor we need to do find out what’s really going on at the Retreat. We have to protect the remaining artifacts and, if Ernie’s suspicions are right, we have to recover the pieces that have already been stolen. Barela is concentrating on finding Professor Lockhart, and doesn’t seem concerned about our missing art. That’s the reason I’d like you, Sister Agatha, to look into this.”
“But will Sister Agatha be safe?” Reverend Mother asked, concern wavering her voice slightly. “A man is missing. He may have been kidnapped—or worse.”
“Sister will be staying among the guests, not driving down a lonely mountain road at night. But I’d like her to take the monastery’s police dog with her for protection. There’ll also be an undercover officer there on site as well. He’ll make himself known to you when circumstances permit.”
Sister Agatha nodded, glad that Pax would be able to go with her. Undercover officer or not, Pax was a good ally to have close by.
“Does Mr. Luna know I’m coming to investigate the thefts?” Sister Agatha asked.
Archbishop Miera nodded. “Yes, both he and the undercover officer. To the staff and guests you’re there solely to catalog and evaluate the contents of some crates that were recently discovered at the Retreat. They appear to have been left behind by the monks when the monastery closed.”
“What’s inside these crates?” Sister Agatha asked.
“I have no idea, but we do need those items inventoried, so the timing’s perfect,” he answered. He remained silent for a moment as if still trying to make up his mind about something.
“I’ve got a feeling there’s more… something you’re reluctant to mention …,” Sister Agatha prodded softly.
“Your journalistic instincts are right on target, Sister,” he said with a weary sigh. “It’s time for me to tell you about— the ghost.”
Reverend Mother and Sister Agatha exchanged wary glances. “Excuse me, Your Excellency,” Sister Agatha said. “Did you say ghost?”
Table of Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Preface
Authors note
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Afterword