Bad Samaritan

by Aimée Thurlo

  “The sheriff was given a knockout drug—a good weapon of choice for a woman with a disability like hers.”

  “What are you saying—that she appeared after the sheriff went down, then took his gun and shot Robert?”

  “Or maybe she came up from behind Robert while he was trying to figure out what was wrong with Tom, knocked him aside, then shot him with Tom’s gun.”

  “You’re reaching, Sister Agatha. The wheel tracks on the grass would have been obvious.” She pointed to the two lines still visible on the ground.

  “You’re right . . . unless the woman can walk short distances on her own.” She paused and shook her head. “I’m trying too hard.”

  “Take things one step at a time,” Sister Bernarda advised.

  “You’re right. Let me find out what her connection to Robert Garcia is first. Wait for me here. I’m going to catch her before she leaves,” Sister Agatha said, hurrying across the parking lot.

  She was halfway there when a familiar voice called out to her.

  “Sister Agatha, do you have a minute?” Father Mahoney said, waving to get her attention.

  She stopped, then was forced to wait while a couple stopped to thank him for the service. “Sorry for the delay,” he said at last, “but I needed to talk to you about the statues that’ll be transferred from your monastery to St. Augustine’s chapel.”

  “Father, Sister Bernarda’s in charge of that. She’s right back there,” she said, pointing.

  “Oh, then I’ll go talk to her. Thanks for your time.”

  By the time she reached the parking lot, there was no sign of the woman and only an empty space next to the spot where she’d last seen her. Sister Agatha studied the wheelchair tracks and tried to remember what kind of vehicle had been parked there. Nothing came to mind, except the impression that it had been pale blue.

  Sister Agatha asked the few remaining funeral attendees about the wheelchair user, but no one seemed to know who she was. That, of course, raised questions all on its own. Bernalillo was a small community with only a few stores and one post office.

  As Sister Agatha headed back to join Sister Bernarda, Chuck Moody, who’d been sitting on a bench under a shade tree, stood and waved to her.

  Sister Agatha went to meet him, questions circling in her mind. “I thought we’d agreed that you and I shouldn’t be seen together in public,” she said, joining him on the bench.

  “We’re safe enough,” he said, his words clipped. “Almost everyone’s gone now.”

  The coldness of his tone alerted her instantly. “What’s wrong?”

  “I found out that the monastery’s probably going to be closing down.” He stood up and glared at her. “Why didn’t you tell me, Sister Agatha? I could have run a story, and maybe donors would have stepped up to help.” He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “What upsets me most is that you don’t trust me. I thought you and I were friends.”

  “We are friends, Chuck, good friends, and I’m sorry, but it wasn’t my secret to tell,” she said softly. “It isn’t final yet, and nobody’s supposed to know. Reverend Mother wanted it that way. How did you find out?”

  “Sister Bernarda slipped up,” he said, sitting down dejectedly. “She mentioned how busy you all have been packing. She covered for it almost instantly, of course, telling me that you were just storing old computers. I caught on, though, and used one of your tricks—getting to the truth by making it sound like I already knew all about whatever she was trying to keep secret.”

  The well-known technique was one she’d taught all her journalism students at the University of New Mexico. It was all in the phrasing. You wouldn’t ask, “Did you kill him?” Instead, you’d phrase it in a way more likely to get the answer you needed—“When you killed him, did you wash your hands afterward?”

  “I’ll give you the highlights, if you agree not to print it until I give you the okay,” Sister Agatha said.

  “Agreed.”

  “Let’s meet back at your office and talk there. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure.”

  Sister Agatha stood and, as an afterthought, added, “Did you happen to take any photos of the woman in the wheelchair?”

  He shook his head. “I only took photos of people who were at the graveside service, and I didn’t see anyone in a wheelchair.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you later.”

  As Chuck walked away, Sister Agatha spotted Smitty at the far end of the parking lot unlocking his car. Waving to get his attention, she hurried over to talk to him.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” Sister Agatha said. “I wanted to ask you if you’d seen Scout since we last spoke.”

  “No, he’s been making himself real scarce lately. I think he’s running scared. I left him a sandwich last night, but it was still there this morning.”

  “That’s not good,” she said and sighed. “Would you keep leaving food out and call me when he starts picking it up again?”

  “Sure. I just hope we don’t end up getting him killed,” he muttered, sliding onto the front seat of his car.

  With his words still resonating in the back of her mind, Sister Agatha watched him drive away. Smitty had voiced a disturbing truth. Murderers required secrecy and seldom looked kindly on any light that could dispel the darkness they left behind. If she somehow managed to get Scout to speak to her, she’d also have to find a way to protect him.

  9

  AFTER LEAVING SISTER BERNARDA AND THE ANTICHRYSler at the monastery, Sister Agatha and Pax took the Harley to meet Chuck at the Chronicle.

  Taking a seat at one of the cluttered desks, Sister Agatha studied the photos Chuck had taken. He’d printed out a complete set for her. One photo captured her attention almost immediately. It showed Victoria speaking to a statuesque blonde in her late fifties, and it was easy to see from their hardened expressions that the two were not friends.

  “Who’s this woman with Victoria?” she asked, pointing to the blonde.

  “That’s Deputy Judy White. Actually, former deputy. She retired a few years ago.”

  “I’m guessing she was a friend of Robert’s, not Victoria’s. Is that right?”

  “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that she and Robert worked in the evidence room together back in the days when they were both with the department.”

  “I’m still looking for a motive for Robert’s murder, and her background brings up some interesting possibilities. Do you know where I can find her?”

  “Sure. She owns Judy’s Place, east of the casino turnoff. I hear she’s practically always there.”

  “I remember hearing about that place. Judy’s supposedly has the best sandwiches this side of Albuquerque’s Central Avenue,” Sister Agatha said.

  “You should eat there sometime. Her reputation’s well deserved.”

  Sister Agatha thought back to the time when she’d known all the best cafés around—and the ones to avoid. Her life had been so different when she’d been just plain Mary Lambert Naughton. She pushed the thought away almost as quickly as it had formed. As Sister Agatha, she’d found a peace beyond measure . . . but a part of her still missed the little adventures that had defined her back then.

  “I did a piece on Judy White when she opened her café. Her mother owned a small restaurant in Los Lunas during the sixties, and that’s how they made ends meet when Judy was growing up. The restaurant business was always in Judy’s blood, so when she retired, she borrowed against her 401(k) and got things rolling. If the crowded parking lot is any indication, she’s prospering right now.”

  Sister Agatha smiled. “Success usually follows passion and a dream—particularly when those two things are helped along by tons of hard work.”

  “Then I must be on the right track. I love this paper,” he answered with a smile as he looked around.

  “You’ve found your calling, Chuck.”

  “Speaking of calling, Sister, what’s really going on at the monastery?”

  Sh
e sighed softly. “This past year’s been difficult. It’s getting increasingly hard to justify the upkeep the old place needs. Now that our income has slipped since our business clients have taken their work overseas, the situation is getting even tougher.” She swallowed, determined to keep her voice steady. “It’s not cost-effective to run a monastery as large as ours for the benefit of just ten nuns. It makes far more sense to relocate the sisters elsewhere.”

  “So, that’s it? You’re leaving?”

  “Unless a miracle happens and we get a big job, we’ll be closing our doors. The winery next door wants to expand and made us a very generous offer for the monastery and the property around it. The funds from the sale, if it goes through, would be given to the monastery outside Denver that has offered us a home.”

  “Do you think you might be transferred up north before the sheriff is cleared?” Chuck asked, as if reading her mind.

  “There’s a chance that’ll happen, but I’m praying that I’ll be able to finish the job I’ve started.”

  Chuck looked down at Pax. “He’ll be making the move, too, I hope?”

  “Yes, Pax is part of our family,” she said, standing. “I better get going. I want to give myself plenty of time to talk to Judy, and if she’s busy, I intend to wait. Something tells me that she could turn out to be a big help to me,” she said, remembering the disdain on Victoria’s face.

  As she and Pax headed for the Harley, she looked down at the big dog and smiled at him. “You may not be allowed inside the restaurant, boy, but we’ll find a shady place where you can wait.”

  Pax looked at her, unperturbed. For dogs there was no “later” or “tomorrow.” There was simply now. There was a lesson in that for her, too. She had to stop worrying about the future. As the Lord had said, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”

  Sister Agatha arrived at the café just west of the main highway junction, a short time later. By then, some serious storm clouds had rolled in from the west, and the wind was picking up, another sign that rain wouldn’t be far behind.

  As she pulled into the parking space nearest one of the two side entrances, Sister Agatha could see that most of the round, bistro-sized tables inside were occupied—not bad for a late lunch. The tall blonde she’d seen in the photo peered out at her from behind the front counter, apparently having heard the distinctive-sounding Harley engine.

  Sister Agatha was climbing off the bike when Judy White came out onto the sidewalk.

  “Sister Agatha and Pax! I’ve heard all about you two, and your flashy motorcycle! I’m Judy, but you must know that by now. I had a feeling you’d be stopping by after I saw you staking out the graveside service.”

  Sister Agatha’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t think I was being obvious.”

  “Hey, I was with the sheriff’s department for more years than I care to count,” Judy said, chuckling. “After a while, you learn to notice even the little things most people just let slide by.” She waved toward the rear of the building. “Why don’t we go around the back, and I’ll let you and Pax into my office. We’re in for a gullywasher soon, and you don’t want your canine friend to get soaked. Besides, it’s time for my lunch. Would you like a sandwich—on the house?”

  Remembering her earlier wistfulness, Sister Agatha silently gave thanks for the unexpected blessing. “A sandwich sounds great. Thanks!”

  Judy led the way through a rear storeroom and into the small but carefully laid-out office. File cabinets and a sturdy oak desk fit perfectly within the floor space, and a round window granted a magnificent view of the mountains to the east. Reaching into a tiny refrigerator installed below the right side of the desk, she brought out two bottles of cola and handed Sister Agatha one.

  “Would you like to see our menu? We have over two dozen specialty sandwiches.”

  “I’ve heard, but no menu is necessary. Just bring me one of your favorites. I’m sure it’ll end up being one of mine, too.”

  Judy returned a few moments later with a plate containing the biggest and thickest sandwich Sister Agatha had ever seen.

  “This is our number one customer favorite. It’s shredded premium sirloin, sharp cheddar, fresh Hatch green chile, and grilled mushrooms on sourdough.” She placed the plate on the desk in front of Sister Agatha.

  “We’re going to split this, right?” Sister Agatha asked, trying to squelch the sin of gluttony that had suddenly reared its ugly head.

  “No, that one’s just for you. I’ve got another sandwich being prepared for me, and some beef slices for the dog, too.” Judy stepped out of the room, then returned a moment later with her own platter and something for Pax on a bread plate.

  “Thank you very much—from both of us,” Sister Agatha said. After saying grace silently, she took a bite of her sandwich. It was unbelievably good, moist, savory, and perfectly spiced with just the right level of chile heat. Judging by this sandwich alone, the café’s reputation was well deserved. No heaven would be complete without a sandwich like this on its buffet table.

  “Now tell me what I can do for you, Sister,” Judy said, taking a large bite of her own sandwich—a steaming hot, freshly grilled, olive-oil-brushed panini sandwich filled with what looked like ham, mushrooms, and red bell peppers. “I have a feeling that you noticed that Victoria and I don’t get along.”

  “I did,” she admitted.

  “I’m closer to Robert’s age than she is, and there was a time when she thought there was something going on between him and me. Of course, he may have led her to believe that on purpose, to make her jealous. He liked playing mind games with people. There was never anything between us, though. I can’t stand control freaks.”

  “I’m trying to get a better feel for who he was, and who his enemies might have been. Can you tell me more about Robert?”

  “I worked with him for about eight months, but he and I never really got along. He had to micromanage everything and everyone around him. At the time, he didn’t outrank me, and I had more years in the department, so I didn’t have to take orders from him.”

  She paused and took a few more bites. “That man used to call his wife six or seven times a shift to check up on her. From the bits and pieces I’d overhear, I think he believed Victoria was having an affair. He had to know where she was every minute and who she was with, even after the baby was born. Over the years, I heard that his control issues got even worse.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There were rumors that he started slapping Victoria around, but I never noticed any marks on her, so who knows? As for Robert, I hadn’t seen him for a long time—since we last worked together, to be exact. He certainly never stopped by here, at least when I was behind the counter.”

  “Do you know if Robert had enemies in the department?” Sister Agatha asked.

  Judy stared down at her plate, lost in thought. “Only one name comes to mind—Deputy Tony Gannon. When some items supposed to be in the evidence room turned up missing, Robert blamed Tony. Tony insisted that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d done the initial paperwork. He blamed Robert for failing to enter the data into the system and not properly shelving the items. Robert argued that he’d never received anything from Gannon, nor had he handled the evidence container. They went back and forth like that for a long time.”

  “What was missing?”

  “A couple of handguns taken during a drug bust.”

  “What do you think happened to the pistols?” Sister Agatha asked, noting the sudden rattle of heavy raindrops on the metal roof.

  “They probably got misplaced,” she said with a shrug. “My gut instinct is that Robert dropped the ball on that. Whenever Robert argued with his wife—an almost weekly event—he’d be stomping around and fuming for the rest of the shift. If Gannon turned in the handguns on one of those days, it’s possible that Robert never even processed the paperwork.”

  “What happened to Deputy Gannon?” Sister Agatha asked quickly, excited to have found a possible suspect
in addition to having had a terrific lunch.

  “Nothing was ever proven, so both officers had a letter placed in their files. Eventually, both Robert and Tony left the department for greener pastures. You already know about Robert. Tony was poached by the Austin Police Department for half again the pay as well as a housing allowance.”

  Sister Agatha’s spirits plummeted. For a moment she’d thought she’d found a viable lead, but now it appeared she’d reached another dead end. “What about Robert’s security firm? Do you know anything about his business?”

  “No, not really. I’ve never been much interested in rent-a-cops. For that, you’ll have to talk to his partner, Monty Allen.”

  Finished with lunch, Judy went to open the window, which pivoted in the middle, an interesting design feature. The rain had stopped now, leaving a cool, fresh breeze in its wake. “I love the scents that always follow a good storm,” she said, inhaling deeply.

  “It’s a rare enough treat here in New Mexico,” Sister Agatha said. “Now that the rain’s let up, I better be on my way. Thanks very much for that wonderful lunch.”

  “You’re welcome, Sister Agatha. Come by anytime.”

  Soon Sister Agatha was on her way north, toward home, with Pax in the sidecar. To avoid the deep puddles that now filled the low spots, she kept the Harley closer to the centerline. The absence of a curb and storm drains made New Mexico roads like this one a mixed bag of hazards during seasonal thunderstorms.

  Twenty feet beyond the graveled shoulder was a concrete-lined flood control canal, essential across the metro area during summer downpours. This twenty-foot-wide portion of the system was currently filled to the brim with muddy water and plant debris carried down from the higher ground to the east.

  Looking ahead through her water-splattered helmet visor, she saw a hunched, soaked figure walking north along the roadside adjacent to the canal. Something about him looked familiar. As she drew closer she realized that it was Scout.

  He must have heard the roar of the Harley above the rush of water, because he turned to look. The second he saw her, Scout took off at a jog.