“For now, just let it go. But if something ends up missing tomorrow, we’ll try to get more answers.”
Sister Agatha nodded, but knew she wouldn’t stop investigating until she’d figured it all out. “What about you? Any news?“
“I spoke to Sheriff Barela again earlier tonight. He’s had his deputies checking the bus stations and car rental places in Las Vegas and Santa Fe. He’s pretty sure that Miller didn’t leave by bus or rent a car.”
“Tom, I honestly believe that Bill’s still around here somewhere, hiding out, and maybe switching from room to room or something like that.”
“If he’s the artist who made the replicas, and maybe the thief as well, then my bet is that he’s probably in touch with a middleman—a fence who can move the pieces for him. I don’t think he’d risk doing it himself now that he’s known by the big-time art dealers.”
“From what I’ve learned, there’s only one person in Las Vegas who might help him—Lisa Garfield. I don’t think she’s dishonest, but she has feelings for him—perhaps strong enough to break a lot of rules if he asked her.”
“I’ll check into it.”
Sister Agatha yawned. “Oh, excuse me! I’m just beat.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got to get some sleep. I have to be up at four-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Why don’t you play hooky and get some extra sleep? Nobody would know.”
“I would. Starting my day right reinforces my links to God, and He brings out the best in me,” she said with a smile. “It’s also my way of staying connected, in spirit anyway, to my sisters back home. My life ... and my heart... are there, no matter where I go.”
“There’re all kinds of adoptive families that aren’t bound by blood,” he said slowly.
“It is like a family—but more so. We’re united because we share the same purpose. We live to serve God and His Son.”
“And it’s a good life for you?“
“It’s the best,” she said with conviction. “It’s what I was meant to do and be.”
True to her word and her calling, Sister Agatha was out of bed and outside before sunrise. As she gathered strength from the peace that surrounded her, her voice joined with the chorus of angels who >praised God unceasingly. Her whispered devotions stirred the early-morning stillness, and she could almost hear the prayers intoned back at the monastery echoing back, becoming one with her own.
“Rejoice in God ... Cry out to him full of confidence.. ..” As she lifted her soul to the One God, she found the sweet peace that came from trusting in His love.
By the time she returned to the library she was ready to meet whatever challenges came her way. As she walked down the corridors she could hear people walking about, and occasionally caught a glimpse of someone heading to the bathroom at the end of each guest hall.
Suddenly there was a resounding crash. A tray had been dropped and now a bevy of footsteps followed, along with raised voices. As she rushed down the hall to see what had happened, she caught a whiff of the lilac scent and then saw Charlee Lane standing with her back to the wall. Her hands were fisted around the folds of her robe in a death grip.
Rita Gavin, one of the housekeepers, looked up and, seeing Sister Agatha, explained. “It’s Juanita,” she said in a shaky voice. “She came to pay us a visit.”
“The way she looked at me ...” Charlee said, her voice two octaves higher than usual.
“You saw her face?“ Sister Agatha asked, feeling a quick rush of adrenaline.
“I saw her eyes peering through that black veil. They were so pale, they almost glowed, and she was looking right at me!“
“Charlee, are you sure that it wasn’t your imagination?“ Sister Agatha asked gently. If this was a new publicity stunt Charlee had devised, she didn’t want any part of it.
“Sister, I have a great imagination. If I were going to create a fantasy, I’d come up with something far more pleasant. Remember me? I’m a romance writer.”
Sister Agatha had to smile. Something told her that this time Charlee was telling the truth. “Okay. Then tell me this, was she carrying anything?“ she asked, thinking of the rose petal the ghost had dropped the night before.
Charlee started at the floor, then shrugged. “She could have been carrying a machine gun, for all 1 know. 1 just saw her eyes, and they gave me the creeps—big-time. She’s dead, for Pete’s sake, and there she was staring right at me.”
Sister Agatha looked at Rita. “Did she have anything in her hands?“
Rita struggled to remember. “All I remember was that terrible lilac scent. Whenever she’s around it’s like being trapped in lilac hell. This ghost must have a terrible sinus problem. If her nose wasn’t so clogged up, she’d suffocate and die all over again.”
Sister Agatha smiled. “You don’t seem very intimidated by her.”
“I’m not,” Rita replied. “If she’s dead and still hanging around here, I figure she’s got more problems than I do.”
Sister Agatha chuckled softly. “Good point.”
“This ghost is a nuisance, Sister, because she likes to play games. But I don’t think she’ll harm anyone.”
Sister Agatha looked at Rita curiously. Either she was a very brave woman, or Rita knew something she wasn’t telling—like the actual identity or identities of the ghost.
Sister Agatha started to take a deep breath, then coughed. More of the lilac scent had drifted in her direction when someone opened the outside door. The smell was nearly overpowering now. In contrast, the rose scent the ghost had left in her wake last night had been pleasant and light.
Pax started sneezing. “I know, Pax, I know. Not exactly the sweet smell of kibble, is it?“
Tom, who’d just joined them, touched Charlee on her arm to get her attention. “Focus. Where did the ghost go after you saw her?“
“She went in that direction,” she said, gesturing to a hall leading into the unrenovated portion of the building. Then, with a trace of annoyance, she wiped the tears from her eyes and added, “She took me by surprise. I should have kept my cool and asked her about my manuscript!“
Sister Agatha sensed that Charlee was recovering fast. Her fear had given way to the anger now flashing in her eyes.
“I’m going to go looking for her,” Charlee said, whirling around and walking quickly away down the hall.
“Let’s follow her,” Tom said, motioning for Sister Agatha to accompany him.
They caught up with Charlee just as she entered the area yet to be renovated. As Charlee continued forward briskly, Tom pointed to the line of doors ahead. “What’s down here? Do you know?“ he asked, staring at Charlee, who shrugged.
At that moment, Ernie Luna joined them, looking worried, and opened the first door, which had no lock.
Tom stepped inside. The room, which had clearly been a monk’s cell, was small and the furnishings were simple. There was a cot and a desk, and a rustic wooden cross hung on one wall.
“The ghost couldn’t have come in here. If she had, she’d still be around because there are no windows,” Sister Agatha observed. “Unless she walks through walls, of course.”
The small group of ghost hunters continued from room to room, revealing more windowless and bare monks’ cells. There was no trace of the scent of lilacs in any of them. Finally they reached the last door at the end of the hall.
As soon as Tom pushed it open, the searchers saw a large garbage can in the middle of the empty room heaped full of construction debris and refuse. Toward the top of it were several dusty candy wrappers, a crushed aluminum cola can, and a cut-up sheet of paper with some typing on it.
Seeing the paper, Charlee gasped and pulled it out immediately. “My book! This is a page of my book. See? It has my name and the title on the header. But somebody cut out the middle.”
Charlee held up the paper, page 241 according to the number in the upper-right corner. Most of the page had been cut out in a strange pattern! probably with a razor blade or a very sharp knife. The
n Charlee looked back at the garbage can. “What did they do to it? And where’s the rest?“
“Maybe there are more pages farther down among the debris,” Tom said. He saw another empty garbage can sitting nearby. “How about if I dump the full can into the empty one? If the rest of the pages are in there, we’ll spot them.”
“Garbage in, garbage out?“ Teresa joked from the hall behind them.
Charlee shot the newcomer a venomous look, then glanced back at Tom. “Okay, but please be careful.”
Everyone stepped back except for Charlee, and Tom picked up the heavy refuse can with a grunt, tipping it into the empty can. With a rumble and a small cloud of dust, the broken chunks of plaster, paper tape, chips of wood, and worker debris fell into the new container. Except for what looked like a few receipts and paper labels, there were no more pages of manuscript, not even the cutout section of page 241.
Charlee stepped back, choking from the dust, then wiped her eyes. “Thanks for trying,” she said to Tom, struggling to control her emotions.
“If this turns out to be a joke one of you guys pulled on me,” she said, looking at Teresa, Bob, and Dominic, who’d just caught up to the party, “I’ll find out and even the score.”
As she strode out of the room, the remnants of page 241 in hand, Ernie stepped over to the now-empty garbage can and looked inside. “That sheet of paper could have been dumped in there anytime. At least we didn’t find it in any of the guest rooms. I hope we find the rest of her manuscript, for all of our sakes. And not cut up, either.” Shaking his head, he hurried out of the room and headed back down the hall.
Sister Agatha and the others started to examine the room, but it was quickly apparent that there was nothing else to find except for dust and a few more pieces of debris.
As everyone drifted back to their rooms to finish getting ready for breakfast, Sister Agatha returned to the library with Pax. “I know you’re not a scent hound,” she said to the dog. “But do you think you could track a ghost who wears so much perfume she wouldn’t need mosquito netting even in a swamp?“
Pax sneezed.
Sister Agatha smiled. Sometimes she was sure the dog could understand her. “Was that a yes, Pax? Could you track her?“
“Only by instinct. He doesn’t have that kind of training,” Tom said though the open doorway leading to the hall. In response to her welcoming wave, he came in and sat down. “Interesting morn-ing, wouldn’t you say?“
“That’s one word for it,” she answered.
“Gloria just left to visit some friends at Highlands University, so I thought you and I could have some breakfast together and talk. Did you know that Tim Delancy, Paul Whitman, and Bill Miller all went to the same high school together?“
“I knew Bill went to school with Ernie and JB. Have the others all known each other that long?“
“So it would appear, though they don’t seem to have been buddies, then or now.”
Sister Agatha nodded thoughtfully. Then, leaving Pax in the library to guard the crates, she and Tom walked to the dining room for breakfast. The food was plentiful, with freshly made breakfast burritos stuffed with scrambled eggs, sausage, potatoes, and, of course, plenty of red or green chile.
“I wonder what’s happened to Ginny and Ernie,” Sister Agatha said, noticing that neither of their hosts were present. “They’re usually here to greet the guests.”
“Yeah, Ginny loves to mingle. Something’s off today,” he said softly. “I know she didn’t go with my wife. Gloria was desperately trying to get me to go along with her because she hates to drive alone. I wouldn’t have minded hanging around the college with her, but she said she was going shopping afterward.” Tom shuddered. “It takes that woman two hours to decide which scarf to buy. Shoes are even worse. I would rather be buried alive than go shopping with my wife.”
“Do you know where she was this morning when the ghost made an appearance?“
“Somehow, I knew you were going to ask me that,” he muttered. “She’d gone out for a walk. We’d had an argument over some little thing—“
Just then Ernie Luna came rushing into the room. He nodded to his guests as he passed, but never swerved from the straight line he was following, right to the small table by the window where Sister Agatha and Tom were sitting.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but I need to speak to you two right away, in private,” Ernie said quietly.
Sister Agatha took a quick bite, hungry from her late-night and early-morning excursions. “I hate to waste this good food. Let me ask the waiter to keep it warm for me until we return.”
“Just bring the plates with you. You can eat while we talk,” Ernie said.
Ernie led them to his office behind the registration desk, then closed the door. As he turned around to face them, Sister Agatha noticed that he looked pale and his hands were trembling.
“Ernie, what’s wrong?“ she asked quickly.
“It’s Ginny. I’m afraid something’s happened. All her things are here, including her purse and car, but I’ve searched the entire place inside and out. She’s gone.”
15
HEARING A KNOCK AT THE DOOR, ERNIE HURRIED TO answer it and stepped aside as Sheriff Barela entered. The sheriff nodded brusquely to Tom and Sister Agatha, then turned to face Ernie belligerently. “What’s going on, Luna? I got a call on my cell phone saying that it was an emergency and you had to see me right away.”
Ernie quickly recapped what he’d told Sister Agatha and Tom, then continued, “Last night Ginny and I had a long talk, and she told me that she’s been dressing up like Juanita and playing ghost, hoping to stir up some fun for our guests and make their stay here more memorable. Then, after we discovered that someone was taking the folk art and replacing the originals with copies, she continued playing the role in an attempt to disrupt the thief and convince the guests that no real crimes were taking place. She was trying to save our business from potential scandal.”
“So Virginia was claiming that she didn’t have anything to do with the theft of the Church’s art collection?“ Barela pressed.
“My wife isn’t a thief, JB. She wouldn’t betray me in any way.”
“So you don’t find it odd, even though the bulk of the evidence indicates that Miller was probably the thief and art forger, that he and your wife are now both missing?“
Anger flashed in Ernie’s eyes, but he took a deep breath and answered in a calm, cold voice. “1 could see Ginny tracking Bill down if she had an idea where he was hiding, especially if she thought he stole the missing art. But if that had been the case, she would have at least left me a note. My wife doesn’t just take off like this. And keep in mind that all her personal things—purse, keys, money, jewelry—are all here.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?“
“Ginny got up at around three in the morning. I know because she woke me up and I looked at the bedside clock. She said she had an idea she wanted to check out, and told me to go back to sleep.”
“An idea?“
“Ginny has bouts of insomnia. When that happens she usually gets up and works on her redecorating plans. So I just went back to sleep. But when 1 woke up this morning, 1 realized that Ginny had never come back to bed. Her nightgown was where her slacks had been—draped over the chair. I’ve been looking for her for hours now.”
Sheriff Barela shrugged. “I can’t start a search right now, Ernie. We’d have to wait twenty-four hours before she’s considered a missing person. My department is short of manpower, too, and in addition to our murder investigation, we’re still trying to locate Bill Miller. But because of the possible connection to the ongoing investigations here, I will put out an APB on her. If any of my deputies or the state police spot her, I’ll be notified immediately. Has any more of the art turned up missing?“
“I don’t know and I don’t care.” Ernie looked as if he were barely holding onto his temper. “I want my wife back safe and sound. That’s the only thing th
at matters to me.”
“1 understand, but I’ll still need you to check things out here. Her departure may be related to another crime.”
“PU do it, if that’s what it takes to get you moving,” Ernie said. “But I’m really afraid that she may have run into the real burglar and been kidnapped.”
Sheriff Barela, accompanied by Sister Agatha and Tom, followed Ernie as he went around the building. They checked all the cabinets and nichos in the sprawling structure for the items on Ernie’s copy of the Church’s insurance inventory. Soon they dis-covered that two more items were missing—a solid silver candle sconce dating back to the 1860s, and an intricately carved, un-painted wooden image of St. Peter fashioned in the early 1930s.
“I can tell you this much,” Ernie said thoughtfully. “Those two pieces together aren’t worth nearly as much as the large cross with straw applique that was right beside the statue of St. Peter. The cross dates back to the early 1900s and the applique panels detail images taken from the life of Jesus.”
“Yes, but that cross is very large,” Barela said. “The other two things would be a lot easier to carry—or hide.”
Ernie looked down at his clasped hands, then looked up again, his voice low. “If my wife had wanted to steal something valuable and small, she would have picked the gesso relief of the Virgin of Guadalupe. That’s in the nicho in the corridor near the lobby. Ginny’s other favorite piece is not much bigger. It’s an-other gesso relief—one of St. Michael the Archangel defeating the dragon.
“But you see, this is exactly why the thefts have never made sense to me,” Ernie continued. “The pieces that are taken seem to be randomly chosen. They’re not always the most accessible, and neither are they the most valuable or marketable.”
“Maybe the forger thought they were easier for him or her to copy,” Tom suggested.
“Im still betting that our two missing people are the perpetrators,” Barela muttered.
“Just find my wife, Sheriff,” Ernie said coldly. “Then you’ll see that she’s not guilty of anything except a little overzealous playacting.”
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