Wild Mystic

by Sandi Ault

  “I’ve seen a black Humvee up here on the High Road around Peñasco several times in the past few days,” I said. “You wouldn’t know who else owns one around here, would you?”

  The chief chuckled. “Nobody owns one around here. We’re just a poor little village, mostly unemployed. If we didn’t get that grant, the fire department wouldn’t have one either. That pumper and that tanker over there, those are the newest equipment we have, and they’re ten years old. Everything else is mid-1990’s or older. This Hummer is our prize, and it was a lot easier to get a grant for it than for the quarter of a million dollars we would need to buy a new fire truck.”

  Now that the fire threat was past and the Blazer sat blackened on the side of the road, the crews began to disperse. I found Deherrera talking to some of the Picuris who had come out to see the scene. “I wonder if you might know where that boy on the bike went.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “He could be anywhere. He rides that bike of his up and down every game trail and all through the woods.”

  I sighed. Already, it had been a long day, and it wasn’t quite eleven in the morning. I took one of my cards from my shirt pocket and scribbled the number for the Screech Owl a second time on the back of it, so he wouldn’t call the BLM office in Taos, which was the first number listed on the front. “Will you please make sure he gets this and ask him to call me?”

  Paul’s brow furrowed. “I can tell him any message you have.”

  I shuffled my feet in the dirt of the culvert, trying to figure out what to say. The Bartender had instructed me to keep my investigation secret. I had already let on to two aunties at Tanoah Pueblo that a woman was missing and I was looking for her, plus the abbot at the Mountain Mission was suspicious. There was no way I could keep this under wraps if I kept on asking questions. I was thinking of ways I might glean the information I wanted from Paul Deherrera when one of the firefighters waved at me and shouted: “Fire investigator wants to talk to you.”

  “Be right there,” I called back, and then I turned to Deherrera again. I spoke the truth when I said, “I want to thank the boy for getting my wolf out of the car. I’d like to tell him personally. He saved Mountain’s life.”

  27: In Deed

  After I’d spoken with the fire inspector, I arranged a ride for Mountain and me to the ranger station in the back of a Forest Service truck. I went to pick up my backpack and heard Buzz thrumming in the front pocket of the pack. I punched the green button and before I could answer, a woman’s voice said: “Good afternoon, Miss Wild. You will see a document of interest when you press on the link in your messages application. Should you need to contact me, dial zero. Have a safe and productive day.” She hung up.

  “Have a safe and productive day, my behind,” I muttered. I shoved the phone into my jacket pocket, threw the backpack on the bed of the pickup, carefully placed my rifle along the raised side of the tray, and was startled when Mountain jumped up and laid down on the truck bed beside it. Once we were hunkered down in the back, the rangers headed toward the state highway. I pulled Mountain to me and held him tightly around the neck. I tried to sing to him, as I often did when he was anxious, but I couldn’t hear my own voice over the truck’s engine and the clatter of the tires rattling along on the gravel road. I felt my racing pulse slow a little, and my adrenalin level begin to subside. Who torched the Blazer? I wondered, certain that it was no accident. Was it Lor? Did he see me get in it at the ranger station and then follow me to where I parked it? It made perfect sense. He’d sworn to get even over his dog, and killing Mountain would be his objective in that case. Or was it Eddiejoe Ibanez? The gal at the Bear’s Paw seemed adamant that he was a vigilante and would seek any means to settle scores. In addition to these two possibilities, I thought of the man dressed in quasi-military style who had followed me in the Hummer and peered into the windows of my Jeep when I stopped on the High Road yesterday afternoon. Who was that guy?

  I pulled out Buzz and found the link to the document mentioned in the call earlier. It was a recent filing in Taos County regarding Abasolo’s property, transferring its ownership to the Mountain Mission Monastery, with the stipulation that Abasolo could continue to live on the property for the duration of her life. I glanced over it briefly but didn’t take the time to read every detail on the tiny screen of the device. “I know where we’re going next, Buddy,” I said to Mountain, and I tousled his ears. “I could be wrong, but I think it’s a fairly safe place…for a change.”

  When I got to the ranger station, my Jeep was still there, still spattered with dried mud, no decals on the doors. Obviously, the detailer hadn’t come for it yet. I went to load my backpack, my rifle, and Mountain into the car, when I saw a doubled-over sheet of paper wedged between the wiper blade and the windshield. I unfolded it and read the big letters scrawled in thick red marker: Roy says you are to call him NOW!

  It was only then that I realized that I had left the Screech Owl in the cup holder of the Blazer and it had no doubt been obliterated in the fire. That meant that if Roy had tried to call me—or if anyone else who had the number had tried—their attempts had been in vain. So the number I’d just scribbled on my card and given to Deherrera to give to Ray wouldn’t work, and I’d have to figure out another way to try to find Freakboy.

  Mountain and I were already inside the door of the ranger station when I realized that the scorching of the Screech Owl also meant that when Kerry tried to call or text, he, too, would not be able to get through. I had done a pretty good job of disguising how rattled I was at the scene of the car fire. But now, I felt a huge weight descending onto my shoulders, and I almost couldn’t move. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, in and out, a few times.

  “You okay, Agent Wild?” A woman behind the high reception desk with a name tag that identified her as Vicky Kasza was leaning forward, studying me with a wrinkled brow, as if she wasn’t sure whether to call an ambulance or offer solace. I must have looked terrible, because before I could think how to answer, she and the two field techs who had just given me a ride hastened over in unison, arms extended, as if they thought I might collapse. The woman gestured to a chair.

  I didn’t sit, but instead asked, “Could I get a drink of water for me and my wolf? And I need to use your phone.”

  It felt reassuring to hear Roy’s voice on the other end of the line, barking and cussing like he always did when he was concerned about me, which was a fair amount of the time. “I just got off the line with the fire inspector. He’s not done looking at the evidence yet, but he seems to think that someone tampered with the Blazer.”

  I told him about the dead foxes, and that I was concerned it had been Lor Talgren who poisoned them.

  “Dammit,” The Boss said. “Did you call the sheriff about it?”

  “It’s no use talking to them about someone killing wildlife, believe me. They didn’t care when a lunatic was decimating the only wolf pack in this part of the state, remember? So they’re not going to care about a few foxes. Besides, I couldn’t prove it was Lor.”

  “Well, now we got something that goes way beyond poisoning a few foxes, Jamaica. You’re still off-book with me, but I say you get off-book with that other deal, too, and take some personal time. We’ll get you a paid leave order.”

  “It’s not going to help if it was Lor Talgren. If he’s the one who tampered with the car, then he must have seen me switch vehicles and followed me. How else could it have happened? And even if I took some leave time, he knows where I live. We can be sure of that because of the foxes.”

  “Well then, first off, we gotta get you someplace else to stay.”

  I was quiet a moment. “I think you might be right about that.”

  “Have you got someplace? Be better if you weren’t alone.”

  “I have a place in mind. I’ll let you know for sure. And I’m not alone. I have Mountain.”

  ☽

  The treacherous, cliff-edge road to the monastery had been freshly graded, and alth
ough that still didn’t eliminate the washboard-effect, it made the drive considerably smoother. I drove in silence, trying not to think of anything but the stretch of dirt and gravel ahead of me.

  But when I arrived, the mission seemed anything but calm and serene. Looking through the gates, I could see a dozen or so of the brothers scurrying around between the two buildings on either side of the main chapel. Another pair of monks worked with brushes and paint to touch up the window frames and wood trim around the doors. I rolled down the windows to leave Mountain some air, and I worried whether he might be unwilling to stay in the Jeep after what had happened earlier, but he stretched out in his familiar cargo area and looked like he was ready to nap, so I left him to sleep off some of the stress.

  The two great entry doors stood open, and I was wondering whether or not I should pull the rope and ring the bell. Before I could make up my mind, I saw Brother Tobias walking in my direction, though he hadn’t noticed me yet. He was holding two large iron candlesticks and had been about to cross into the library when he glimpsed me standing there. “Hello,” he said, and when he hesitated a moment after that, I guessed that he’d forgotten my name.

  “It’s Jamaica Wild, Brother Tobias,” I said. “How are you?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, Miss Wild, of course. I’m sorry…were we expecting you?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure you weren’t,” I said, “but it looks like you’re expecting somebody. Everybody seems to be rushing around like the Pope is coming or something.”

  “Well, we’re not expecting His Holiness the Pope, but His Excellency the Archbishop of Santa Fe has decided to come for a visit.”

  “Is Father Anthony here? I need to talk with him.”

  Brother Tobias gave a slight frown. “I’m afraid we only allow women at the monastery by appointment, Miss Wild.”

  I thought about this for a moment. “Well, tell him it’s about his neighbor, Adoria Abasolo and I have some information I think we should discuss.”

  The monk straightened. “Please wait in the library, and I will see if Father Anthony can spare a moment for you.” He set the candlesticks down on a table and hurried away.

  I took advantage of the time alone to cross to the shelf with Adoria Abasolo’s books. I chose the newest-looking one based on its pristine and unwrinkled jacket. It was titled Taking Flight, and the copyright was dated last year. I turned to the title page and read the inscription: For Father Anthony, in gratitude for your listening ear and wise counsel. “Aha!” I spoke aloud as I snapped the book shut.

  “Have you gained a small measure of enlightenment?” Father Anthony stood in the doorway.

  “As a matter of fact, I think I have,” I said. I put the book back on the shelf.

  “We’re quite busy today, Miss Wild,” the father said. He sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs and gestured for me to sit.

  I took a seat on the loveseat opposite him. “I just discovered that Adoria Abasolo transferred the ownership of her property to you only three days before she disappeared.”

  The abbot frowned. “Why do you insist that she disappeared? I don’t see how you are qualified to make that determination. I talked with your superior in the Taos office…”

  “You told me when I spoke with you yesterday that her land adjoined yours. You didn’t mention that she had donated the land to the monastery, and it was in fact yours.”

  “I don’t see how this has anything to do with you, Miss Wild.” He stood as if to dismiss me. “I have important work to do. The Archbishop is coming from Santa Fe to inspect our new micro-brewery, and we have been working around the clock to get everything ready.”

  “I think you summoned me here yesterday because you don’t want me to talk about the fact that Adoria Abasolo has gone missing. Maybe it has something to do with the Archbish…”

  He interrupted: “She might have just gone somewhere, on a trip, or to visit someone. She’s under no obligation to tell me of her comings and goings. It’s possible she went early to the east coast. You know she is scheduled to appear soon at the presidential inauguration. Besides, your superior told me that…”

  I held up my palm to stop him from going any further. “I mean no disrespect, Father, but you must have a reason for trying to silence me. I think you know that Abasolo has been missing, and you’re covering it up. I just haven’t figured out why yet.”

  “Well!” He clenched his jaw. “That’s quite an accusation!”

  “I read the inscription in her latest book, there in the bookshelf. She thanked you for listening and for your advice. You obviously know Ms. Abasolo quite well, and I need to know anything that you can tell me. I believe she is in grave danger.”

  Father Anthony sunk back to a sitting position. “This isn’t just about surveying property lines, is it?”

  “No.”

  “But your boss…”

  “My boss doesn’t even know…I need you to keep this conversation in confidence before I tell you anything more.”

  “And you will do the same with anything I tell you?”

  “If I possibly can. But if it will help me or others to find Ms. Abasolo, I need to share the information.”

  “Well, first let me say that I cannot tell you anything that has been said in the sanctity of confession.”

  “So you were her confessor?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “It was on New Year’s Eve. She came here to evening vespers.”

  “Did you talk with her then?”

  “Yes. Among other things, we discussed some upcoming arrangements…you see, from time to time, Ms. Abasolo generously allowed certain guests of ours to stay in her home—both vendors and visitors who required an overnight stay, but who were not on spiritual retreat, thus not prepared to experience the austerity of a Trappist monastery for lodgings. It has been the custom over several years. We had scheduled some houseguests for two nights right after the first of the year, men from the company who installed the tanks for the brewery. We were having some service issues and they were coming to make repairs. We chatted about the arrangements for this.”

  “And what were the arrangements? Was Adoria supposed to be there to host the visitors?”

  “No, not really. You see, in these cases, we paid for her housekeeper, Mrs. Munoz, to do the extra work to make the beds and launder the bed linens and for meal preparations for the guests. Mrs. Munoz would usually greet the visitors when they arrived, especially if Ms. Abasolo wasn’t home or didn’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “So, she just let you have people come and stay in her house from time to time? It seems like it would be inconvenient, not to mention an invasion of privacy. What did she get out of it?”

  “It was simple generosity on her part, another way of giving to the Mountain Mission. You see, the visitors would typically pay a bed-and-breakfast rental fee to the monastery, and Ms. Abasolo kindly allowed us to pocket the funds—after we paid her housekeeper, of course—for some of our daily needs. She said she had a big house and didn’t mind. This has occurred more than a few times, and it began long before she deeded the property to us.”

  “So when she was here for New Year’s Eve vespers, you told her that some visitors were coming who needed to stay at her house?”

  “Yes. They arrived here to begin work on a Friday…let’s see, that would have been the second of January, and they worked through the next day, Saturday. They stayed both of those nights, leaving on Sunday morning, the fourth. On their first night there, the housekeeper went to open the house and see to the guests’ needs. She told me afterwards that Ms. Abasolo was not home at that time, and it did not look like she had been there the night before. Mrs. Munoz had already been instructed to do whatever was necessary to take care of the visitors; as I said, that’s our customary arrangement when visitors to the monastery stay there.”

  “Did Adoria say where she might be going the evening before the brewery people arrived?” />
  He looked down at his lap. “Not exactly.”

  “What? Do you have some idea about where she went?”

  “It was some time previous to that conversation that she told me she was planning to go to a ceremony at Tanoah Pueblo. But I don’t know when that ceremony was to be held. I can’t be sure if this was where she went at the first of the year.”

  “And do you know if the housekeeper saw her after the visitors left?”

  “Mrs. Munoz did not see her. She was concerned when Ms. Abasolo’s bed was still made the next morning after the visitors arrived. And our guests were there for two nights. Ms. Abasolo did not return after I saw her here at vespers on New Year’s Eve.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell someone?”

  “I told you, she could have just taken a trip. She often went away for several days at a time when she was writing. It is even possible she left early to be ready for the inauguration ceremonies.”

  “Three weeks early? I don’t think you really believe that. I think you didn’t want to stir up any controversy when the Archbishop was coming.”

  He frowned. “Our very survival as a monastery is at stake, and I know that Ms. Abasolo would want us to do anything we can to remain here in service to God and to the people in this area. You see, the Mountain Mission has been struggling to remain afloat for some years now. Two years ago, we received notice that we were in danger of losing our status as a monastery because we were not demonstrating enough economic viability. When Ms. Abasolo learned about this, she expressed a desire to help us. She offered to give us quite a lot of money, or to start an endowment. But our financial strength cannot simply come from one generous donor. We have to be able to prove that we are not beholden to any individual and can create revenue sufficient to stay afloat. After some consideration, we made the decision to launch a program to raise hops and brew an artisan beer, but we needed more water to do that. She helped us to obtain a piece of land behind and to one side of hers, along with its water rights. We believe that producing this beer will allow us to remain open.”