Rueful Death

by Susan Wittig Albert

  Paradise, huh? I thought darkly. Garden of Eden? Well, where there are gardens, there are snakes. And one of them was holed up on the cliff across the river, taking potshots at me.

  By five-fifteen, twilight was falling and I had calmed down. The third shot had been the last. I'd hunkered down behind the willows for ten minutes, then made a dash for the safety of Jeremiah. I'd had a short nap and a long bath, and I had put things in perspective. Given the spread of the shots-off the rocks and over my head, into the river to my left, and into the cottonwood tree to my right-it wasn't likely that anybody was shooting at me. It was probably some dude with a new deer rifle, not firing at anything in particular, not even bothering to look where his bullets might end up. Chances were, he hadn't heard me yelling, or he knew that he'd come that close to wiping me out.

  I was pulling a flannel shirt over my jeans when the bell began to toll. I looked at my watch. Not yet five-thirty. Dinner was at six, I thought, but maybe my watch was slow.

  It wasn't. The bell had just stopped tolling when Maggie knocked at the door. I started to tell her about my adventure with Hawkeye and his Christmas rifle when I saw her face.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Sister Perpetua died this afternoon," Maggie said soberly. "I went back to Mother's cottage for a talk. While I was there, Sister Rowena came with the news. That was the bell just now, tolling for her."

  "That's too bad," I said. I was genuinely sorry that Perpetua had died, and almost as sorry that I hadn't gotten to talk to her. "Her heart?"

  Maggie's mouth tightened. "Royce Townsend has other ideas. He was there when she died. He's ordered an autopsy."

  An autopsy? In the routine death of an elderly woman with a history of heart trouble? "Why?"

  "Who knows? Maybe he suspects something."

  I looked at Maggie, startled. "Suspects what?"

  "God only knows," Maggie said. "Maybe he thinks he can embarrass St. T's by implying that there's something suspicious about the way Perpetua died, the same way he did with Mother Hilaria." She shook her head bleakly. "Perpetua would be so humiliated at the idea of an autopsy. She was tired and sick and ready to die. That's all there is to it."

  "You're sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure," she said. "Who would want to kill poor old Sister Perpetua?"

  I stuck my flashlight in my coat pocket and Maggie and I walked over to Ezekiel to get Ruby, who had changed from her monk's robe into slacks, a sweater, and jacket. The three of us set off on the path through the meadow to Sophia. On the way, Maggie repeated the story of Perpe-tua's death and I told them about the shooting.

  Ruby stopped in her tracks and stared at me. "Somebody tried to kill you!" she exclaimed.

  Maggie frowned. "If the shots came from the cliff, it had to be one of the Townsends. That's their land."

  "Wait a minute," I said. "Whoever it was, he wasn't aiming to kill me. The shots went all over the place."

  "It could have been a warning," Maggie said.

  "It wasn't a warning," I said. "It was an accident. Some idiot was up there with a new gun, not paying any attention to-"

  "If it was a warning, the guy had to know who China is and why she's here," Ruby said.

  "Stu Walters knows," Maggie said. "He could have told Carl Townsend."

  "Hey, you guys," I protested. "Haven't you been listening? It was an accident."

  But now I wasn't so sure. Even if I allowed for Maggie's anti-Townsend bias, I had to admit she might be right. Given the influence of the county political machine, the sheriff and the deputy might very well be in cahoots with one of the county commissioners. Which meant that Walters could have mentioned to Townsend that the abbess intended to bring in her own arson investigator. And if Townsend had anything to do with the fires-which I had to admit was also possible, even though everybody insisted it wasn't-he might have decided to warn me off.

  Ruby was frowning at me. "What are you going to do?"

  "Eat supper," I said. "And think about it."

  Sophia emerged out of the twilight at the end of the path, like a ghost of the old ranch headquarters. I almost expected to see tooled leather saddles hung over the wooden porch rail and the heads of trophy bucks nailed to the walls. But if they had been there once, they were gone now. Maggie opened a wooden screen door and we stepped into a high-ceilinged entryway that smelled of old stonework, overlaid with the scent of the lemon polish that had been used on the large oak cabinets along the walls and the pine oil used on the tile floor. But what struck me most was the utter silence, a calm, weighty presence that was almost as physical as the walls themselves.

  "Gosh, it's quiet in here!" Ruby said in an awed whisper. She looked up at a heavy wooden cross encircled by a wreath of rusty barbed wire that was decorated with orange-red pyracanthus berries.

  "Of course it's quiet," Maggie said in a low voice. "It's a cloister." She lifted her eyes to the cross.

  "Do I have to whisper?" Ruby whispered to me.

  Maggie turned, smiling. "No," she said. "People talk at mealtimes."

  Ruby and I followed Maggie down the silent hall, past a large laundry room and kitchen on one side and a community room on the other. We turned a corner.

  "That's the main office," Maggie said, pointing to a closed door. "Someone is on duty there during business hours. That's where the phone is located, if you need it."

  The refectory-already crowded with sisters-was at the end of the hall, a large, square, cheerful room, brightly lit, with undraped floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a small, shady garden. It was furnished with wooden tables and chairs arranged in orderly rows. At one end stood another large table, on which the food-soup, bread, sandwich fillings, salad, and fruit-was laid out on a bright yellow cloth, buffet style. Although the women were older than most students, the scene reminded me of a college dining hall.

  But as I glanced around, I saw that there seemed to be an invisible line drawn down the middle of the room. On one side, the tables were filled with women wearing jeans, slacks, and skirts, talking in low voices, laughing and smiling, their heads close together. The women on the other side-most of them older-wore navy skirts, white blouses, and the same short blue veil and white wimple Sister Olivia had worn. They ate with their eyes cast down, observing what Maggie called ' 'modesty of the eyes,'' and only a few were talking. If I'd needed a visual demonstration of the gulf between St. T's and St. Agatha's, diis was it.

  We filled our plates, then went in search of Dominica. We found her at a table with Sister Miriam, a thin-faced woman with hair the color of autumn oak leaves and an intense, darting glance. As I sat down, I saw a look pass

  between Maggie and Dominica. I thought I understood that look now, and the softening at the comers of Maggie's mouth when Dominica returned her smile. Love is love, wherever you find it. The trouble is that some kinds of love are hard to fit into our lives. The glance wasn't missed by Sister Miriam, either, who turned away, her face unreadable.

  We were still getting settled when we were joined by Sister Rachel, who was short, plump, and all in a dither. Her nose and eyes were red and she seemed distraught, not so much over Perpetua's death, but over the fact that her body had been taken away.

  "We have a very special ritual when a sister dies," she explained to Ruby and me. "Our infirmarian-that's Sister Rowena-washes our dead sister and dresses her. Then we carry her to the chapel and light the paschal candle and take turns reciting the Psalms. It's all very beautiful, very reassuring. To have poor Perpetua hauled off like a dead cow…" She shook her head, despairing. "It happened the same way with Mother Hilaria. So horrible! Where will all this end?"

  "With a new abbess, unfortunately." The angularity of Miriam's face was matched by her thin voice. "Unless a miracle happens, we'll be voting before compline tomorrow."

  "We should have prayed harder for Perpetua," Dominica muttered.

  I seconded that. Maybe Perpetua couldn't have told me anything more than I already knew about the lett
er she'd received. On the other hand…

  "There won't be an election tomorrow," Maggie said, buttering her roll.

  "Oh, really?" Miriam asked dryly. "With Perpetua dead, the score is nineteen to twenty. Just in time, too. Olivia is getting tired of holding her breath."

  Who would want to kill poor old Sister Perpetua? Miriam had just given me an answer to Maggie's rhetorical

  question. But that was ridiculous. Nuns only killed other nuns in murder mysteries.

  "I'm afraid Olivia will have to hold her breath a little longer," Maggie said. "There are still twenty votes for Ga-briella." Everybody was looking at her, but she didn't seem to notice. "I asked Mother Winifred if I could come back to St. T's, and she said yes. It's up to the Council of Sisters, of course, and Reverend Mother General has to agree, but Mother says there won't be a problem."

  Miriam didn't look overjoyed. "Reverend Mother will jump on the idea like a duck on a Junebug," she said, "even if it does put Olivia on hold a while longer. The order needs every vocation it can get."

  Ignoring Miriam, Dominica clasped her hands, her round face shining. "Oh, Margaret Mary, I'm so glad! I've missed you so much. We've all missed you!"

  Ruby was gaping. "But what about your restaurant? You've put two years of work into it, Maggie, You can't just turn your back and walk away!"

  "Why not?" Maggie's face was sober but her blue eyes were twinkling. "It's just a restaurant. No big deal." She patted Ruby's hand. "This is right for me, Ruby. I belong here."

  Ruby subsided, muttering. She enjoys an occasional retreat, but she also loves her fun. She would find life in a monastery unutterably boring.

  I searched Maggie's face for a hint to how she was feeling, but all I could see was her normal serene calm. Her announcement wasn't totally unexpected, of course. She'd been telegraphing it all day. I hoped she was coming back for the right reasons, but I had to wonder.

  "I don't suppose you're doing this to keep Olivia from being elected," Miriam remarked. She was watching Maggie obliquely, and I wondered how much she knew about the relationship between Maggie and Dominica. She herself was linked with Dominica, at least in the poison-pen

  writer's imagination. I studied her more closely. Was there a hint of jealousy in her look?

  I wasn't surprised when Maggie answered Miriam's question with a firm, clear "Of course not." If Maggie had another motive, she probably wouldn't share it-and certainly not in response to such an obvious challenge.

  Sister Rachel cast innocent eyes around the table. ' 'Why in the world should anyone want to keep Olivia from being elected? She isn't my choice, but if she's elected, it will be God's will."

  "Really, Rachel," Dominica said impatiently. "You know better than that. God doesn't will everything that happens. He wasn't responsible for the fire in the chapel, for instance. Some bad person did that."

  Rachel was half-frowning. "But the person who set the fires… couldn't she-if it is a she, I mean-couldn't that person be carrying out God's will? There is a larger purpose in all things, even if we can't always see it." She paused, took a deep breath, and then plunged deeper into the muddy theological waters. "The person who is setting the fires could be an agent of God. Who are we to question? Who are we to know?'

  Miriam hadn't been paying any attention to Rachel. She leaned across the table toward Maggie. ' 'If you're coming back to keep Olivia from taking over, it won't do a dime's bit of good, Margaret Mary. You may stall her for a while, but sooner or later she and Reverend Mother will get what they want. Unless we do something about it, St. T's is doomed."

  The last melodramatic sentence rang into the dead silence that had fallen suddenly over the room. Miriam raised her head and looked around, her cheeks reddening. Mother Winifred was standing at a table near the front of the room. She was so short that I had to move my chair to be able to see her.

  "I am sure you have all heard that Sister Perpetua died this afternoon," she said with dignity. "Father Steven will

  celebrate a Requiem Mass later in the week. In the meantime, following our tradition, we will say prayers in the chapel for Sister Perpetua's soul." She didn't mention the fact that Sister Perpetua's body would be somewhere else.

  When she finished, she introduced me and told the sisters that I was there to look into the fires. She paused for a moment, looked around at her silent audience, and added, "I am sorry to tell you that letters of a quite destructive nature have been delivered to several of our sisters." She spoke in measured, emphatic phrases. "This unfortunate business must be brought out into the light. If you have received such a letter or have any information about the writer, I request-no, I direct you to speak to me or to Ms. Bayles immediately."

  I watched the sisters as she spoke. Their eyes were on Mother Winifred, their faces expressionless, with that look of calm serenity I was beginning to think of as a convenient camouflage. If one of them had received a letter or had written one, the guilty knowledge was not written on her face.

  The night sky was lit by a sliver of low-hanging moon when Maggie, Ruby, and I walked in the direction of the cottages, our flashlight beams glancing along the path in front of us. We were all shivering in the frosty January air. As if by mutual agreement, we said nothing about Maggie's decision to return to St. T's, although Ruby must have been quivering with curiosity and I still wasn't convinced that Maggie didn't have an ulterior motive. I couldn't help noticing, though, that her step was lighter and she was smiling. Whatever burden she'd been carrying she seemed to have left behind.

  But there was something else on my mind. I was trying to puzzle out what to do about the shooting that afternoon. Had it been accidental or deliberate? The answer to that question-if there was an answer-was on the Townsend side of the river.

  I caught up to Maggie. "What's the best way to get to the top of the cliff?"

  "You can cross the river at a narrow spot about fifty yards upstream from your cottage," Maggie said. "The path begins on the other side. The climb takes about half an hour, maybe less."

  "It's not straight up, is it?" I asked. I eyed the cliff, which seemed to loom over us. I'm not in bad shape, but I'm not a mountain goat, either.

  "It isn't very steep, but it's a bit treacherous. Would you like to go up there tomorrow?"

  "Actually, I'd rather go tonight," I said. "If I'm going to snoop, I prefer to do it when I'm not going to run into anybody." I wasn't sure there was anything to find, but I wouldn't know unless I climbed up there and looked.

  Ruby zipped up her jacket. "Isn't it a bit cold for us to snoop?''

  "You don't have to come," I said. "After all, you've got to get up pretty early tomorrow." Ruby was leaving for Albuquerque before breakfast.

  Ruby gave me a look. "Of course I don't have to come. But did George and Beth desert Nancy in her hour of need? Anyway, two of us up there snooping are less suspicious than one."

  "Three of us," Maggie said. "You need me to show you the path. It's not a snap in daylight-it'll be harder at night."

  The path was definitely not a snap. Halfway up the cliff, I stopped to catch my breath and take a look at the moon-washed landscape. Above me, rhinestone stars glittered against a matte black sky and the moon, a quarter-round of stamped silver, was surrounded by an iridescent halo. Under my feet, luminescent chips of rock littered the path like moon pebbles. To my right, several yards away, was a five-strand barbwire fence wearing a ' Townsend Ranch-Keep Out" sign. To my left were shadows, deep, dangerous,

  where the cliff plunged to a platinum ribbon of river far below.

  Behind me, Ruby stumbled and slid down a few feet, grabbing at a bush and muttering words that would have made Mother Winifred blush. I turned my attention back to the path, concentrating on putting my feet in the right places. When we finally reached the top, we found a rocky ledge, maybe fifteen feet wide, the barbwire fence slicing across it at an angle. I paused, looking out over the rim. The monastery lay silent and mysterious in the moonlight below, the meadow as silv
er as if it were blanketed with snow. I could see the lights of Sophia and Rebecca and the flat, square roof of Hannah, and the looping road that tied the complex together. Directly below, on the other side of the silvery braid of the Yucca, was Jeremiah, serene and peaceful in the moonlight. I could see the willow clump where I'd taken cover, and the open, rocky river beach where I was standing when the shot was fired. The silence lay like a blessing across the land.

  Maggie stood beside me. "God, it's beautiful," she said. She let out a long sigh. "Please, please don't let it be changed." It was a prayer.

  I turned and flicked my flashlight across the ground.

  "What are we looking for?" Ruby asked.

  "I wish I knew." I walked along the fence line. "Some indication that somebody was here, I guess." But if the shooting was deliberate, the shooter would have been careful not to leave any traces. If it was accidental-

  The torchlight glinted on something metallic in the loose rock. A cartridge case, brass. "By golly," I muttered. I found a twig and stuck it in the open end, in case there were prints, and used the twig to pick it up. I shone the light on the base and studied the identifying marks around it. 303 brit. Oh, yeah?

  It's funny, the things that stick in your mind. McQuaid and I went to a gun show not long ago, and he showed me a gun that was once the pride of the British infantry. An

  Enfield, a 303-the only rifle of that caliber, its hand guard removed and the stock shortened to sporterize it. And now I was holding a 303 cartridge in my hand. I narrowed my eyes. Somewhere, just recently, I'd seen a gun like that. Now where-

  "What did you find?" Maggie asked, coming over.

  I held it up.

  "A bullet?" Ruby asked.

  "Part of it."

  She looked disappointed. "Too bad. If you had the rest of it-"

  "That's okay, Ruby," I said, wrapping the cartridge in a bit of tissue. "This is all I need."

  "Oh," she said. "Then I guess you don't want this."

  "What is it? What have you found?"

  She shone her torch on an empty Camel cigarette pack. Now I knew where I'd seen that gun.