Thief in Retreat

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  Tim laughed. “She’s just playing a role. If you look past the image she’s projecting, I think you’ll find a scared child who just wants to be loved—and become incredibly successful.”

  “Do you think her missing manuscript has the potential to make her a best-seller?“

  “I really doubt it, but an eight-hundred-page manuscript represents a huge investment of time and energy—losing it has to hurt. My guess is that someone hid the manuscript to annoy her— someone she ticked off. And that, as I’m sure you’ve observed, could be just about anyone who’s been around her for more than five minutes.”

  After Tim wandered off, Sister Agatha returned to her desk. She no longer felt so weary, thanks to the cool air outside and her stimulating conversation with Delancy. Her thoughts returning to the problems at hand, she tried to narrow down possible motives for the thefts. The obvious one came to the forefront of her mind first—profit. She already knew of several people here who could use any money that selling the folk art would bring. But the motive behind the pranks eluded her entirely, if it wasn’t purely to act as a diversion for the serious thefts.

  As she leaned back in her seat to think that permutation through, Pax sat by the open courtyard door and stared at her. “Okay, boy. Let’s go out and see what we can find.”

  Sister Agatha fastened Pax’s leash to his collar, then went with him, pausing to lock the outside library door before passing through the courtyard gate. Pax walked ahead, instead of at heel, exploring his surroundings while Sister Agatha’s mind remained on the thief. She had to find out how he or she managed to sneak the stolen pieces out of the building, and what was done with them next. The whole scam had taken careful preparation, since reproductions had to be made, then substituted for the real thing.

  She knew that guests came and went regularly with suitcases, backpacks, and other gear large enough to transport some of the items. But if they started conducting searches or screening guests or staff, the thefts would become public knowledge.

  Except for Miller’s boots, which had been found almost immediately in Bob Becker’s shirt drawer, most of the items weren’t discovered missing until the next morning. That meant that they’d been taken between midnight and very early morning.

  As they made their way across the grounds, Sister Agatha prayed she’d see the ghost now that she had Pax with her. The big dog would pursue and trap the person playing the role and she’d get answers. Despite the long—standing history of similar sightings, she really doubted that the ghost was a genuine apparition.

  She went over the list of potential thieves in her mind. Besides Tim Delancy, there were the Lunas. They had a financial need, and certainly the best opportunity. They were at The Retreat almost all the time. Bill, the handyman and artist, lived in a different build-ing, but he also came and went freely and randomly, and had keys to the main building.

  Sister Agatha was just about to turn around, intending to go back inside through the courtyard gate and library to check out the halls, when she saw a figure step out of the shadows. Pax, who had wandered a few feet away, was suddenly at her side, poised for action. Then his stance relaxed almost immediately.

  “Tom, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Sister Agatha whispered.

  “What on earth are you doing out here?“

  “I came out to look around and give Pax a walk.”

  “I went to the library looking for you. When you weren’t there I got worried and started searching. I must have wandered through half the building before I looked out a window and caught a glimpse of Pax in the moonlight.”

  “What’s going on? Has something else disappeared?“

  “No. I just wanted to find out why you’d locked yourself inside Ginny’s office. You seemed a little tense when I arrived, and since 1 know you don’t rattle easily …”

  She hesitated. “It was probably nothing,” she said, then told him what had happened. “I heard someone breathing, so he must have been close, but I never saw who was following me.”

  “You did exactly the right thing by getting away from whoever it was. Never put yourself in a situation you’re not sure you can control. Remember that Professor Lockhart’s killer is still out there, and we don’t know if his death is connected to whatever’s going on here.”

  “Then I should also probably tell you that my cover may be blown—at least to two people. Tim told me earlier tonight that he believes I was sent here to do more than just look through the crates in the library, and I think Bill suspects as well.”

  “Do you trust either of them?“

  “No. They both have financial motives. Tim’s career is on a downslide and Bill’s an artist, so he could be making the reproductions, planning on selling the originals.”

  “So what are your plans now? Will you be staying up much longer?“

  “Yes. I want to keep an eye on the art. If the thief strikes tonight, Pax and I are going to be right there.”

  “Be careful. Pax is a good backup, but don’t confront the thief if you spot him. Get help. Remember Professor Lockhart.”

  With Tom gone now, she continued on around the outside of the building, intending to circle the main structure completely. Seeing a light on inside Bill’s gatehouse, she decided on the spur of the moment to go talk to the handyman before returning to the library. Maybe he’d seen something going on near the stables or the other outbuildings at night or early morning. If Bill wasn’t guilty, he was in the perfect position to observe the real thief.

  Not wanting to disturb the artist if he was working on his piece for the show, she took a quick look through the parted curtains. Bill wasn’t at his worktable. He was by his desk, and as she stood there watching, he slid a little decorative panel to one side, exposing a concealed drawer. Sister Agatha stared at the tools he extracted. She hadn’t seen a set of lock picks like that since her days as a reporter, when she’d done a story on professional thieves.

  10

  SISTER AGATHA RETURNED TO THE LIBRARY WITHOUT being seen. Bill now was the top suspect on her list, but she’d need more than what she had to prove he was guilty. Hoping he’d make his move tonight when Pax could corner him, she continued patrolling the halls thinking he’d try to use one of those lock picks. He had keys to the building, but the lock picks might be needed for stealing a statue kept behind a padlocked cabinet.

  Silence surrounded her in the darkened halls. Only the grandfather clock interrupted the stillness, chiming away every quarter of an hour. By dawn she was completely exhausted. As she heard the kitchen staff arrive and begin preparations for breakfast, she went back to the library.

  She’d only meant to take a short nap, but the big room was flooded with sunlight when she woke to the sound of a knock at the hall door. As she opened her eyes, she noticed Pax lying on the floor nearby, looking at her, his tail wagging.

  Trying to force herself to come completely awake, she went to answer the door. Tom stood there with a tray that held a pot of coffee and two cups. “I told everyone you were feeling under the weather and that they should let you sleep.”

  “What time is it?“ she asked, squinting.

  “Almost noon.”

  Horrified, she groaned. “Oh, no! I never meant to sleep this late. I bet Pax really needs to go for his walk.” She unlocked the door to the courtyard, and Pax shot out immediately.

  He laughed. “Welcome to the joys of the sunshine after an all—night stakeout.” Tom poured a cup of coffee, then handed it to her. “Here, this will make you feel better.”

  “Thank you,” she said, hoping he was right. At the moment, she felt as if she’d been hit by a truck. “I discovered something interesting last night,” she added after her second sip, and told him about Bill.

  “He could have perfectly legitimate reasons for keeping lock picks out of sight. And that’s assuming they are lock picks, not just special artist tools he uses for his work. But he does bear watching.”

  “Has Ernie continued checking the res
t of the collection to make sure no more pieces have been taken and replaced?“

  “Yes, but there’s no way for him to know for certain. He’s not an expert, remember?“

  She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’ve got a hunch that since all our suspects are still on the premises, the bulto, and all the other missing items, are still around here someplace. I haven’t got a clue where they could be hidden, but one possibility is inside one of the smaller outbuildings. The main house has been pretty well searched—well, except for the guest rooms.”

  “There’s no way we can search those without letting everyone know what’s been going on. But I’ll take the wood shop if you’ll look in the stables. At the risk of being sexist, it would seem more natural if a man looks at the tools and a woman visits where the horses are—or were.”

  “Done,” she answered. “I’ll go this afternoon. But if we’d been talking about a mechanic’s garage, we would have had to flip a coin. I know my way around the hood of a car, and the engine of a motorcycle,” she said, smiling.

  “I remember your brother and his Hariey. No one could get either of you away from that machine some afternoons,” Tom nodded.

  As she drank the steaming coffee and her thoughts began to clear, her gaze drifted to her breviary. This was the first time in over twelve years that she’d missed four of the canonical hours, and it was now nearly time for Sext.

  “Go on to lunch,” she said. “I’m going to stay here and attend to something 1 should have done already.”

  He followed her gaze and realized that she was planning to skip lunch to say her prayers. “Why don’t you say ’em twice tomorrow? The crates will wait, too.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” she said with a wry smile. “Go on to lunch. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Taking special care to ask for forgiveness for her lapse this morning, she did her devotions first. God had done so much for her that it was unthinkable for her to fail to show Him her gratitude and love. She was His, and that knowledge never failed to sustain her.

  Afterward, she looked through the library for Juanita’s journal, determined this time to find it. After an exhaustive hour-long search, she found it nestled behind the books she’d unpacked from the crates and had temporarily placed on the bookshelf.

  Sister Agatha scanned the handwritten document, looking for clues. The brief, fragile diary was a sad accounting of a woman trapped in the nightware of a marriage with a man who clearly hadn’t loved her. Reading bitter passages recounting her husband’s infidelities made Sister Agatha’s heart ache. Juanita’s only source of comfort appeared to have been her small garden of flowers and her hobby of distilling perfume from her favorite blossoms. If there was any truth to the story that Juanita’s spirit roamed the hallways, she could now understand why, and the lilac scent made sense in that context as well.

  It was time for the merienda, the afternoon tea, before she finally left the library. Apparently all the workshops were taking a break now, because the great room was filled with guests snacking and chatting noisily. Hungry, Sister Agatha was placing some of the sandwiches from the buffet table onto a paper plate when Charlee Lane came into the great room, walked over to the group of writers, then, surprisingly, whistled loudly like she was calling a dog.

  The room fell silent. “I have an announcement to make,” she said imperiously. “If it’s the intent of the thief to pass my manuscript off as his or her own work, you should know that my attorney now has a copy—with a notarized statement that shows the time and date. The game is over, and you lose.”

  Without another word, she turned and stormed out.

  There were a few comments and an awkward laugh or two, then Tim Delancy broke away from the writers’ group and walked over to refill his plate. “Amazing, isn’t she, Sister? If Charlee ever does hit the best-seller lists, she’s got a great persona worked out. Snappy pen name, too.”

  “Her real name isn’t Charlee Lane?“

  Tim laughed. “No, try Charlotte Galewhaler. She’s right to use a pseudonym. Her real name rolls off the tongue as easily as Englebert Humperdinck.”

  “How did you find out her real name?“

  “I like to research things, too, Sister.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean ’too’?“

  “I know you’re on the trail of something here, and that you’re not alone.” He held up a hand, interrupting her protests, then gave her a long, speculative gaze. “It would be an interesting plot twist if it turned out that you’re the thief—at least of the bulto“ he said. “I could see a nun trying to protect a precious icon. Doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.”

  She shook her head. “God had the ten commandments written in stone for a reason. And one of them says, Thou shalt not steal’. But you may have uncovered an interesting motive.”

  He nodded. “We’ll see how it turns out. And by the way, Sister,” he said, looking pointedly at her generously filled plate, “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  As Sister Agatha glanced around for a place to sit down and eat her selection of tiny sandwiches and an apple, she saw Tom across the room with Gloria and the Lunas. That table was full, so, giving them a nod, she took a seat alone on an old carved wooden bench that reminded her of those at the monastery. Bob Becker joined her a moment later.

  “I don’t know about you, Sister, but I’m just about to lose my patience with these clowns. At first it was fun to try and figure out who the ghost really was, but now it’s turned from a game to cutthroat competition to prove who’s the best investigator.”

  “Don’t worry. I doubt it’ll get out too far out of hand. By and large, everyone here seems pretty levelheaded.”

  “The atmosphere is shifting, Sister, especially since Sheriff Barela started asking guests and staff about Professor Lockhart. This was the last place he was seen the day he disappeared. Tim told us a while ago in our workshop about the professor’s connection to The Retreat’s art collection. Charlee’s now convinced that there’s more going on here than a resident ghost who plays pranks. She won’t quit until she exposes the thief—and maybe the professor’s killer. Then she plans to call in reporters and turn the whole thing into a photo op for herself.”

  Sister Agatha felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The archbishop and Ernie Luna had wanted to make sure every-thing was handled discretely. And if the writers were making the connection linking the professor, the folk art, and the Church, there was going to be a truckload of publicity—all bad. The thief might get wind of that and escape completely, too. This was a wild card she hadn’t expected. “Charlee’s going to look like a fool if it turns out that the ghost is just entertainment that the management is sponsoring for its guests.”

  “She knows that, and so does everyone else. But Charlee likes risks. She’s not published yet, so what does she have to lose?“

  “Tell me, Bob. Why do you think someone really stole her manuscript? Is it a prank, or something more?“ she asked softly, making sure she wasn’t overheard.

  “I think it’s more malicious than just a prank. Charlee’s a friend of mine, but she can be obnoxious. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone got ticked off and took it just to drive her crazy. My guess is that the manuscript will turn up somewhere public under circumstances that will make her look like a complete idiot in front of the others.”

  “You know the guests here better that I do, especially the other writers. Who do you think is capable of doing something like that to her?“

  “Maybe Vera Rudd finally got fed up. Charlee has been pestering her from day one to read that manuscript, and Vera has a short fuse. She might have done it just to get Charlee off her back. Face it, most agents see an unpublished manuscript by an unknown author as paper with some ink. It’s worth absolutely nothing to them—until someone else wants it.”

  Bob stood and glanced around. “Then again, maybe she insulted one of the hotel staff and
that person decided to give her a scare.”

  Sister Agatha considered what Bob had said. If the unpublished manuscript really wasn’t worth anything at this point except to Charlee, then its disappearance fit with the pranks the ghost had been pulling, like taking Bill’s boots. But that didn’t fit in with the theft of the retablo, the bulto, and the other artworks that had been taken and replaced with copies. Maybe the thief had been taking his or her time, slowly moving from piece to piece, stealing and probably selling the originals.

  As Gloria wandered off with Ginny Luna, Tom came over. “I’m getting together with Barela this evening and I’ll get an update on the Lockhart investigation. Since the handyman is another local boy, I’ll be asking the sheriff about Miller’s background and see what he has to say about him. What’s your next step?“

  “Pax and I are going to take the Harley into town and visit some of the local art galleries and talk to the shopkeepers. I want to find out what people think about Bill’s artistic abilities, his big exhibit coming up, and also about The Retreat’s ghost.”

  “Just watch yourself, and keep Pax close by. The person you heard following you last night may have been doing that for some time.”

  She considered it and nodded. “I suppose it’s possible, but it’s going to be a lot harder for anyone to sneak up on me with Pax along.”

  Tom nodded, then wandered off to the buffet table for one last stop before his next workshop session.

  After taking Pax for a walk, Sister Agatha decided to turn Juanita’s journal over to Ginny. Seeing her talking to the front desk clerk, she went to join her. As Ginny turned and focused her attention on her, Sister Agatha gave her the journal.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t see anything in there that can help us, Ginny. It’s just a very sad story and an interesting glimpse into another woman’s life. But as you probably recall from having seen it before, some of the pages are falling out. You might think twice before letting anyone else handle it.”