by Aimée Thurlo
“Wait,” Sister Agatha yelled, then realized that with the helmet muffling her voice, the roar of the cycle’s engine, and the sound of water in the ditch, there was virtually no chance of him hearing her.
Before she could decide what to do next, she heard the blare of a car horn behind her. In a heartbeat, a pickup whipped around her, spraying water everywhere. Blinded for a few seconds by the sudden deluge, she backed off the throttle and tapped the brakes, worried she’d drift out of her lane or lose control altogether. The mud-splattered white truck cut in front of her and swerved to the right, onto the shoulder.
Fifty yards ahead, Scout was running for his life. Glancing back over his shoulder, he veered out onto the concrete slope of the raging canal, desperate to avoid the oncoming vehicle.
“Lord, help!” Sister Agatha prayed, helpless to intervene.
As the pickup brushed by him, Scout slipped and fell into the churning stream of water. Swept downstream, he groped in vain for anything to hang on to, but the rushing water carried him relentlessly along, his head barely visible.
For a second the pickup skidded, and she thought it would go into the water as well. Then the driver regained full control and swerved back onto the highway.
As the white truck accelerated away, Sister Agatha tried to read the license plate, but between the mud and the distance it was a futile effort. All she could tell from the color was that it was a New Mexico plate.
Focused solely on saving Scout now, she pressed the motorcycle for more speed. About a mile ahead, the canal intersected the main channel leading west to the river. If Scout got carried that far, he’d be swept against one of the big metal grates and drown. She had to get ahead of him somehow, then grab him as he went by.
People drowned in these ditches every year during flash floods. There was even a special fire department rescue unit that practiced ditch rescues, but they wouldn’t be able to get here in time to do any good. Knowing that, she gunned the engine and raced down the road, looking ahead as well as in the rearview mirror for any other vehicle that might be able to stop and help.
Speeding past Scout, she found a spot that would serve her purposes and pulled over to the shoulder of the road. Pax sat up immediately, but without even looking over at him, she gave him the command to stay. He couldn’t help her here.
Sister Agatha yanked off her helmet and dropped it on the ground as she hurried over to the concrete apron of the ditch. On her knees in six inches of water, she gazed upstream, trying to spot Scout’s bobbing head. That was when she saw a tree branch riding the waves along the edge. Without hesitation, Sister Agatha reached out as it passed by and grabbed the branch.
The stout tree limb was much bigger than it had looked and yanked her forward almost into the stream. She braced herself with her left arm, dug in with her feet, and somehow managed to keep hold of the branch without getting pulled into the raging waters. Using all the strength she had left in her arms, she lifted and pulled the cottonwood branch onto the concrete. Now she had something for Scout to grab—if he was still alert and conscious when he passed by.
Sister Agatha stood, trying to spot him among the debris, and saw that he was much closer than she’d expected, still trying desperately to swim to the edge of the canal. Waving to get his attention, she called out to him.
“Grab hold!” she yelled.
She got down on her knees, anchoring herself the best she could against the outer edge of the concrete, and swung the branch out over the water, trying to avoid touching the surface. Though it was heavy, she had to keep it clear of the water or it would be carried away, out of his reach and useless.
As Scout swept past, he reached up at the last moment and managed to grasp the branch. The sudden impact nearly yanked her off her feet. The swirling waters became a powerful adversary as she fought to pull him to safety.
Her joints ached from the stress, and as her skin was scraped raw, her grip on the branch started to slip. Groaning from the pain, she tightened her fingers and held on, praying for strength as the laws of physics took over. With her as the anchor, the man was swung out of the main stream of water and to the edge of the canal.
Scout reached the upper slope of the concrete seconds later, grabbed the same edge that anchored her feet, and pulled himself up out of the water, choking and gasping from the effort.
As he reached safety, Sister Agatha let go of the branch, at long last allowing it to be swept downstream.
“Are you all right?” she managed, trying to catch her breath.
He didn’t answer, but his pale gray eyes met her gaze and held it for a heartbeat.
Sister Agatha saw human recognition there, and for a second Scout almost smiled. Yet that brief, gentle emotion vanished almost as quickly as it had formed.
Scout reached behind his shoulders with bony, bleeding hands, searching in vain for his backpack, which had been lost in the current. When he realized it was gone, fear and confusion took control of him again. He scrambled to his knees, looking around in desperation.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” she said softly.
Like a trapped wild animal, he stared vacantly at her, then raced off, heading for the highway. Thankfully, no cars were coming, because Scout didn’t think to look. Seconds later, he leaped into the underbrush and disappeared into the bosque.
By the time she managed to stand, he’d disappeared from view. She returned to the Harley, where Pax was waiting for her, and called in the report to the police.
“It’s time for us to go home, boy,” she said, putting the cell phone away and giving Pax a hug. Sometimes, there was nothing more comforting than having your arms around a big dog like him.
As they headed back, she remembered the gratitude and relief she’d seen in Scout’s gaze for a few precious seconds and whispered a prayer of thanks. Instinct, and perhaps more—a stirring of certainty—assured her they’d meet again.
10
THE FOLLOWING MORNING SISTER AGATHA, SISTER BERnarda and Maria Victoria worked to pack up most of Sister Clothilde’s remaining kitchen appliances.
“So we’re moving for sure?” Sister Agatha asked.
Sister Bernarda nodded. “It’s definite now. The Archbishop informed Reverend Mother that no additional funding can be found to counter our budget deficiencies. The sale of our monastery is going through, and we’ll be leaving by the middle of this month.”
“That’s only seven days away,” Sister Agatha said, trying to swallow back the sudden panic that swept over her.
“We’ll take care of the packing while you finish what you need to do in town,” Sister Maria Victoria said. “Sister Ignatius started a novena for you, too, so that you’ll be able to find the answers you need to clear the sheriff.”
Sister Agatha smiled. “Good. I’ll need all the help I can get.” She glanced at the packing crates, then added, “Let me finish printing labels for those boxes. Then I’ll go.”
Before anyone could answer her, Reverend Mother came to the door. “The others will handle that work, child,” she told Sister Agatha. “You’re needed elsewhere. The sheriff and his family have supported our monastery for many years. Let’s do all we can for him while there’s still time.”
The message was clear. Sheriff Tom Green would be her priority now, second only to her duty to God. “I’ll get started, Mother,” she said, bowing her head and hurrying down the hall.
As she stepped outside, she glanced back at the old building with tear-filled eyes. She’d say a final good-bye to Bernalillo and Our Lady of Hope by making sure justice was served. She couldn’t think of a more fitting way to end her days here.
Seeing Pax stretched out on the porch, sunning himself, she motioned to the motorcycle. “Come on, boy. We’ll be working overtime till we find answers.”
Five minutes later, she was speeding south in the Harley, Pax in the sidecar. Today she’d pay Monty Allen, Robert Garcia’s partner, a visit. She didn’t expect things to go smoothly. Like the
Garcias, he was probably opposed to any effort on her part to clear Tom Green. The challenge would be finding a way to get him to answer at least some of her questions.
The business was located on Bernalillo’s southern margins, and it took her twenty minutes to reach the low metal warehouse that housed Garcia and Allen Security Systems Corp. So far, all she really knew about Monty was that he was a friend of the Garcias and might be running for county sheriff as a write-in candidate.
As she stepped inside the reception area, a pretty, dark-haired woman in her early twenties greeted her with a friendly smile and hello. On her glass-surfaced desk was a red baseball cap, one of the promotional gimmicks used by Robert Garcia’s campaign.
Sister Agatha introduced herself and Pax, but before she could even state her business, Monty Allen came into the room. He was dressed in casual pants and a knit shirt with the company logo embroidered on its pocket.
“I hope you’re here to tell me that Tom Green is ready to withdraw from the race,” he said, his smile as phony as it was fleeting.
The brash words took her aback. “If you have questions about the election, I suggest you speak directly to Sheriff Green,” she said, employing her best Catholic-school nun voice. “I’m not anyone’s political spokesperson, Mr. Allen.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” he said acerbically.
She refused to take the bait, suspecting he was trying to get her angry enough to give him something he could use against Tom. “I came here this morning to talk to you. Since my presence wasn’t a total surprise, and you’re still here,” she said, gesturing to the surveillance camera mounted on the wall, “I’m going to assume that you’re willing to give me some of your time.”
He gestured to the door he’d come through. “After you—and feel free to bring your dog,” he added, his phony smile plastered back in place.
After a short walk down a wide hall, they entered a spacious office. He invited her to take a seat, then made himself comfortable behind a huge, horseshoe-shaped mahogany desk.
“So what brings you here, Sister Agatha? I don’t suppose the monastery requires the services of the best security firm in the Southwest?” He laughed loudly as if he’d found the outrageous question hysterically funny.
“We’re far more worried about other people’s security, Mr. Allen, and that’s why I’m here,” she said as Pax lay by her feet.
“I know precisely what brought you to my door, Sister Agatha,” he snapped, this time without any trace of humor. “You’re trying to get Sheriff Green off the hook.”
“Off the hook implies deception and dishonesty. That’s not what this is all about. I’m after the truth. That’s all.”
He shook his head. “What you’re trying to do is uncover a truth that doesn’t exist,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. “The evidence speaks for itself. There’s no reason to question the sheriff’s guilt.”
“If he’s guilty, as you believe, my investigation will only seal the case against him. If he’s innocent, then it’ll help the police catch the real killer. What harm could there be in that?”
“In the process of investigating a straightforward case, you may also end up uncovering things no one wants brought to light.” He gazed at her consideringly for several moments. “The Garcias are a powerful family, Sister, and powerful families usually have more than their share of secrets—ones they’ll do just about anything to protect. You may not be afraid of them, but if you keep pushing this, you’ll find that people in this town are—and with good reason. Your little investigation may end up doing far more harm than good.”
His message was clear. She’d have to be very careful who she was seen talking to from now on. She could end up placing other people—anyone who tried to help her—in the line of fire.
“Are you afraid that my coming here will place you in jeopardy?” she asked.
“I can take care of myself, Sister, and the Garcias know I’m loyal to them.”
“Do you feel secure enough to answer a few of my questions?”
“Of course. Shoot.”
That had been too easy . . . maybe he intended to ask her for something in return. She focused on the matter at hand. A partial win was better than no win at all. “Did Robert make enemies while he worked here, or did the firm?”
“Robert and I sued a couple of deadbeat clients,” he said with a shrug, “but no one’s tried to murder me over that, so I think you’re on the wrong track.”
“Think harder. Robert must have made enemies. It’s the price of being a successful businessman,” she pressed.
“Let me tell you how things work around here. People who’ve experienced thefts or security issues, or think they run that risk, contact us. We come in, identify potential problems, and safeguard them against any future trouble. We don’t accuse or arrest anyone.”
“Everyone liked Robert and no one had any reason to wish him harm, is that what you’re telling me?” Sister Agatha said with a clear touch of sarcasm.
“No, not quite. People just find it more profitable to be friends with the Garcias.”
“So Robert had the best friends money can buy. Do you include yourself in that?”
“Don’t expect a reaction from me,” he said, laughing. “At this stage in my career, I rarely fall for amateur interrogation tactics.”
“Try one honest answer, then, and it’ll stay between us. Are you afraid of the Garcias?”
“No, I’m not, but I’ll tell you this—it’s a lot smarter to stay on their good side. If you went to them and offered to drop the investigation, I’m almost certain that you’d see a lot of the monastery’s current problems disappear. They take good care of their friends.”
“What problems are you talking about?” Sister Agatha asked, wondering how much he knew.
“I know the monastery will be closing its doors for good soon.”
She stared at him. “How could you possibly know that?”
He smiled slowly. “Luz del Cielo Winery has offered JD Garcia a limited partnership if he’ll finance the monastery’s conversion to a modern bed-and-breakfast.”
There was a knock at the door, and his secretary came in. Moving quickly, she placed some papers in front of him.
He glanced down and wrote some notes on the margins.
As Sister Agatha glanced at his handwriting, she suddenly realized he’d written the note that had been left for them in the Antichrysler. Knowing that her observation didn’t constitute proof, she decided not to pursue that for now.
Once his assistant left, closing the door behind her, Sister Agatha answered him. “Robert deserves to have his real killer brought to justice. Maybe that’ll be worth something to the Garcias someday.”
“That’ll all depend on how much harm you do between now and then.”
“Help me minimize that. Tell me who Robert’s enemies were,” she insisted.
“Anyone who is anyone has enemies, Sister. That’s a fact of life. Even so, most people know power when they see it, and respect that. The attack on Robert was made by someone who didn’t care that Robert was a Garcia—that tends to indicate a personal stake. Maybe it was someone who wanted to see him out of the way, like his political rival.”
They’d gone full circle now. She stood, then asked one final question. “Had Robert won the race for sheriff, what would have happened to this company?”
“I would have run day-to-day operations, and Robert’s share of the profits would have been placed in trust until he was no longer in public office.” Monty squared his shoulders as he rose and faced her. “I’ve done my best to help you today, Sister. Now I’d like you to return the favor.”
She’d been expecting this. “What do you need from me?”
“Talk to Green. Convince him to withdraw from the race. He’ll be facing trial sooner or later, and our community needs a sheriff who doesn’t have a cloud like that hanging over his head.”
“That’ll mean you’ll run unoppo
sed,” she observed.
“Probably, but I can do a good job for this county. I’ve also got the backing of the Garcias. They’ve even encouraged me to use the promotional baseball caps that Robert gave to his supporters.”
Sister Agatha glanced behind him and saw another of the red caps on top of the filing cabinet. “TFC, Time for Change. That was his slogan, right?”
“Would you care for one?” he asked, only half joking.
“I don’t think it’ll go with my habit,” she answered with a thin smile.
“Your choice,” he answered, then held the door open for her. “Do we have an agreement? Will you speak to the sheriff?”
“I’ll pass your message along to him. That’s the best I can do.”
“Good enough. If he has half the integrity you think he does, Green’ll understand that this county deserves more than what he can offer under the present circumstances.”
As Sister Agatha walked out with Pax, she mulled over what she’d learned. She hadn’t received the answers she’d hoped to get, but Allen had certainly opened new avenues for her to consider.
Twenty minutes later, as she drove through the monastery’s gates, Sister Agatha saw Sister Bernarda gathering flowers. This time of year, fresh bouquets were always placed on each grave inside the monastery’s cemetery. Her chest tightened as she realized once again how much they’d be leaving behind.
“The roses are doing exceptionally well this year because of the rains,” Sister Bernarda said when Sister Agatha joined her.
Sister Agatha didn’t reply as she helped place flowers by each headstone.
“Is everything all right?” Sister Bernarda asked, once they were on their way back to the parlor.
Sister Agatha shook her head. “Every time I think I’ve found a promising lead, it fizzles out on me. Instead of getting answers, I just keep finding more questions. All things considered, I’m not sure I’ve made any progress at all lately.”
“Maybe you should focus on today’s Divine Office,” Sister Bernarda said, referring to the readings and prayers that centered their day. “One in particular, actually, from James. ‘Patience hath a perfect work,’ ” she quoted.