by Aimée Thurlo
Knowing things were being handled outside, Sister Agatha closed the chapel door and followed the mourning family down the center aisle. Evelyn genuflected, crossed herself, and knelt at the altar railing. Louis stood behind her, his shoulders sagging.
Sister Agatha’s heart went out to them, and she stood back, giving them their moment of prayer.
Hearing the door behind her open, Sister Agatha turned her head and saw a tall, slender deputy standing there, billed uniform cap in hand. A glance at his name tag told her who he was, and she went to meet him. He’d chosen to remain in the foyer instead of entering the chapel.
“Would you like to come in, Deputy Bennett?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “Not while I’m armed. I’m not Catholic, but any church deserves that courtesy. Do you have a moment, Sister Agatha? I’d like to speak with you.”
Sister Agatha nodded, but as she started to lead the way back outside, he stopped her.
“Not out front, Sister. Those reporters won’t give us a moment’s peace.”
Sister Agatha nodded, then led him out the small side entrance of the chapel. That door, mostly hidden by evergreens, was seldom used. It had been part of the old framework—when the monastery had been nothing more than a big farmhouse with outbuildings.
Once outside, she moved into the shadows and faced him. Behind him she could see the corner of the chapel, and beyond, the parking lot. If any reporters came close enough to listen, she’d spot them. “What can I do for you, Deputy Bennett?”
“Sheriff Green is working this case personally, but I’ll be following it closely, too. I know that my mother-in-law came here every Sunday for Mass. Did she ever speak to you about any enemies she may have made?”
Sister Agatha hesitated. “I’m not sure if I should answer your questions, Deputy. As you said yourself, this is Sheriff Green’s case.”
Just for a second she saw anger flash in his eyes; then his expression became one of polite neutrality. “Sister Agatha, my mother-in-law could be a very difficult woman, but she deserves justice. I owe it to my family to help the sheriff any way I can, though, obviously, I can’t officially work the case.”
He started to say more, then, hearing voices, turned and saw Louis and Evelyn coming down the steps of the chapel’s main entrance. “I better go,” he said and hurried over to meet them.
As Sister Agatha walked to the front of the chapel, Sheriff Green approached. Some of the reporters were now hovering around the victim’s family, but Sister Agatha’s friend Chuck Moody had already left.
“Louis has an iron-clad alibi,” Tom said quietly. “We checked with the casino, and the people there remember him. Of course, he could have hired a professional to kill her. The silencer isn’t a tool used by amateurs.”
“What’s the motive?”
“Jealousy or infidelity? Maybe Jane was having an affair. I’ve found nothing to indicate that yet, but you never know.”
“Judging from Louis’s reaction and Jane’s devoutness, I really doubt that, Tom. Tell me, what was stolen from the cars on the lot? I never heard.”
“Two women are missing their garage door openers. That’s it,” Tom said.
“Considering everything, that’s not too bad.”
“I’m going to catch whoever did this,” Tom said with quiet confidence.
“I know you will. We have faith in you and your deputies, and God’s on your side. Don’t doubt that for a minute.”
“Is your faith really that strong?” he asked, his eyes probing hers.
She nodded. “It’s why I became a nun. I may fail God, but He’ll never fail me.”
Sister Agatha spent most of the night awake in her cell, one of the monastery’s small, simple bedrooms. She’d wanted to stay somewhat alert to Pax, who was outside, guarding the grounds.
Sister Agatha occupied her time thinking, reconstructing the events, particularly her last, brief conversation with Jane. Her failure to help a person who’d reached out to her was like a heavy yoke around her heart. She’d prayed for forgiveness, but she needed to do more—like help the sheriff find the killer before he struck again. If someone else died, the weight of her own guilt would consume her.
It was almost four thirty in the morning, time for the Maria bell to ring telling the sisters to rise, when she decided to go speak to the deputy on duty outside. By now, he was probably tired, undoubtedly less guarded, and more likely to talk freely, particularly to a nun. The Great Silence couldn’t be broken except in grave emergencies until after Morning Prayers, but she wouldn’t be inside the monastery. She’d go outside to speak to the deputy and catch him before he went off duty.
It was still dark when Sister Agatha slipped outside and greeted Pax with a hug. Together, they went around to the parking area, just inside the closed gate. The floodlight, which was connected to a motion sensor, came on, illuminating the area. She could see the sheriff’s department vehicle about fifty feet farther up the road. Hearing steps in the gravel to her right, she turned to look.
A tall, slender deputy came out from behind the solid wall that anchored the right half of their metal gate.
“Deputy Bennett?” she asked, wondering what he was doing here.
“No, Sister,” he said. “I’m Sergeant McKay. I saw the light come on, so I thought I’d come around and make sure everything was okay.”
Pax sat on Sister Agatha’s left side, his gaze on the uniformed officer.
“It’s about time for our wake-up bells. I was already up, so I thought I’d come out and say hello to Pax. It’s been such a trying time for all of us,” she said, her voice strained. “To have one of our regulars at Mass killed right here…that was quite a shock.”
“Nothing surprises me anymore,” he said in a somber voice. “After nearly fifteen years as a police officer, I’ve seen too much of the dark side of human nature.”
Sister Agatha studied Deputy McKay. She recalled having seen him at the sheriff’s office a few times, but they’d never spoken. The man was in his late forties and had a wariness in and around his eyes that attested to what he’d just said. Police work always seemed to take a toll.
“Did you know Jane Sanchez?” she asked him.
“I knew of her, that’s all. Supposedly she was a very opinionated woman.” He shrugged. “Some people can only hear their own voices.”
“Seem like there’s a lot of that going around,” she answered with a smile.
He laughed, and she was relieved to hear it. She wanted to keep him talking, and lightening the mood would help. “What else have you heard?”
“I understand Mrs. Sanchez had her husband pretty much under her thumb. Though I heard that when she tried that on her son-in-law and daughter, it backfired major league.”
“How do you know so much about Jane?” she said, curiosity, not recrimination, alive in her tone.
“Her son-in-law, Gerry Bennett, and I went through the police academy together, and we’re friends. Gerry had to live with his in-laws while he and his wife were having their house built, and that was a real nightmare. By the time the house was finished, Gerry and Evelyn were on the brink of divorce. Gerry blamed it on Jane’s meddling.”
“Mother-in-law problems are fairly common,” Sister Agatha said with a rueful smile.
“Yeah, but Gerry’s too much like Jane, always has to have the last word. Evelyn was probably stuck in the middle—mother versus husband. Thing is, Jane could be hard to deal with. I saw her a week ago parked outside the station during the noon hour. When I mentioned it to Gerry, he told me that his mother-in-law thought he was cheating on Evelyn and was probably hanging around hoping to catch him with another woman.”
“So Gerry and Jane had serious problems?”
His gaze narrowed, and he paused, choosing his words more carefully this time. “If you’re asking me whether I think Gerry killed her, the answer’s no.” He took a breath, then continued. “Gerry can be difficult, but he’s a good officer.”
“That says something,” Sister Agatha said. What he’d already told her about Gerry didn’t exactly remove him from the suspect list, though. If he’d really believed that Jane was trying to destroy his marriage, he could have seen her as a threat. And even if she was killed by a professional—well, no one had more contacts in the underworld than a cop.
After a few more minutes of chatting, she returned inside, ready for Matins, which was chanted before daybreak as a counter to the evils that plagued the night.
Two hours later, once Morning Prayers ended, Sister Agatha was called to Reverend Mother’s office. After the customary greeting, Reverend Mother invited Sister Agatha to sit down. “I received a call from the Archbishop a few minutes ago. He’s very concerned about all the attention the monastery is already getting from the newspapers and media. First because of our involvement with the Good News Meal Program and now with the murder. The fact that cars were broken into didn’t escape his notice either.”
“There’s nothing we can do about the press, Mother, but we’ll weather this storm as we have others in the past. At least no vehicles were vandalized, except for ours.”
“The Archbishop is worried people will be hesitant to attend Mass, not just here but in town, too, until the criminal is caught. That’s why he specifically requested that you help the sheriff gather the information he needs.”
“I’ll do all I can, but Sheriff Green warned me that the mayor is upset about my involvement in past investigations. He was worried about potential lawsuits, I guess.”
“I know how skilled you are, and I’m sure you’ll find a way to help out. Your curiosity is as much a part of you as the habit you wear, and you have one important advantage over most people on the outside—your willingness to rely totally on God. He’ll always guide those who are faithful to Him.”
Grateful that she’d been sanctioned to do the work she’d wanted to see through, Sister Agatha left Mother’s office and went to the parlor. Sister Bernarda was at the desk.
“Where’s Sister Jo this morning?” Sister Agatha asked. “I just walked past the scriptorium, but only Sister de Lourdes was there.”
“Sister Jo’s outside with Pax.”
“Will she be substitute teaching today?”
“Yes, but she won’t be needed at St. Charles until this afternoon, so she’ll be taking care of the Good News deliveries once Sister Clothilde gets things ready.”
Sister Agatha joined Sister Bernarda, who was standing at the window, and laughed, seeing the young nun playing tug-of-war with Pax and winning by giving him a kiss on the nose. Sister Jo was impetuous and likely to lead with her heart in most matters, and there was an innocence about the child-at-heart that endeared her to everyone.
7
MINUTES LATER, SISTER AGATHA WAS ON HER WAY TO town with Pax riding in the Harley’s sidecar. The dog held his nose high into the wind, enjoying all the scents around him. Pax instinctively made the most out of each moment, never worrying about either the future or the past. She envied him that.
Soon she arrived in Jane and Louis’s neighborhood. This morning she intended to find out as much as she could about Jane’s life. Jane had discovered something disturbing, and Sister Agatha strongly suspected that learning what that was would lead her to a possible motive for Jane’s death.
Next door to the Sanchez house, on the left side, stood an old stucco home. A lush carpet of weeds choked what had once been a lawn. Chipped yellow paint covered the wooden trim and front door, but the ground was clear all the way to the mailbox.
This was the best place to start. As Sister Agatha pulled up on the Harley, a woman in her late fifties or early sixties stepped out to the front porch, wiping her hands on a dish cloth.
“I’ve heard all about you and your dog, Sister,” she said after Sister Agatha introduced herself. “I’m Christy White. I guess you’re here to help find out why poor Jane Sanchez was killed. It had to be something more than just a robbery gone sour.”
“What makes you say that?” Sister Agatha asked instantly.
“The deputies who came by earlier kept asking me who Jane’s enemies were. That sure sounded like a murder investigation to me.”
“There are a lot of questions that still need answering,” Sister Agatha said, purposely remaining vague. “If you can spare a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you.”
“Sure, come on in. Bring the dog, too. I’m doing some baking, so we’ll talk in the kitchen.”
Unlike the exterior, the interior of the house was well maintained, with a comfortable, lived-in look. An afghan crocheted in pastel colors was draped across the back of the dark blue couch, and a macramé hanging covered one wall.
“Those are lovely pieces,” Sister Agatha said, gesturing.
“I like working with my hands. It helps me relax.”
As they stepped into the kitchen, Sister Agatha saw bowls and floured pans covering all the countertops.
“I’m trying two different recipes at the same time today,” Christy explained. “I’ll be entering the best one in a magazine contest. Last year I won ten thousand dollars for my blue corn and piñon muffins.”
Sister Agatha blinked. “That much for a muffin recipe?”
“There’s a lot of money to be made in these contests—but you have to win, of course.”
Knowing that Sister Clothilde’s recipes were second to none, she considered asking Christy more about it, but before she could, Christy continued.
“But you didn’t come here to talk about my cooking, so let’s get down to it,” she said, stirring a bowl filled with batter. “I’ve been Jane and Louis’s neighbor for many years, and I can tell you that Louis is a good man. I never could stand Jane. Half of the time I wanted to throttle her. But I didn’t kill her.”
“How come you two didn’t get along?” Sister Agatha asked.
“I hated the way she tried to run people’s lives—especially Louis’s—and it was even worse than usual lately.” She lapsed into a long, thoughtful silence, but Sister Agatha didn’t interrupt, wanting her to continue at her own pace.
Finally, Christy spoke again. “She meant well, Jane did, but in an attempt to give him a few more tomorrows she was making his todays completely miserable. Do you get me?” Seeing Sister Agatha nod, she went on. “Poor Louis was having a real tough time with all the rules Jane had laid down, too. That’s why I’d let him sneak over from time to time for a cup of regular coffee and a doughnut, or take him over to the casino on Sundays so he could enjoy their buffet.”
“So you and Jane didn’t see eye to eye on much…” Sister Agatha let the sentence hang, hoping Christy would fill in more gaps.
“That’s absolutely true,” Christy answered, meeting Sister Agatha’s gaze boldly, “but if I killed everyone I didn’t approve of, we’d have a real small neighborhood.”
Sister Agatha chuckled softly.
Christy poured the batter into cake pans, then glanced back at Sister Agatha. “Right now, I’ve got to tell you, I’m more worried about Louis than what happened to Jane.”
“Do you think there’s any way we at the monastery can help him?”
Christy thought it over before answering. “Louis is mad at God. I don’t think he’s ready to listen to anyone or anything.”
“Thanks so much for taking time to talk to me,” Sister Agatha said, standing. “You’ve been a big help, and I enjoyed visiting with you.”
“It was mutual. I work part-time at Rio Casino, in the bakery, naturally, so I’m not always home, but feel free to drop by anytime I’m here.”
“Thanks, and please keep an eye on Louis for us. Sometimes it’s hard for people going through a crisis to reach out and ask for help. Yet that’s the time they need it most.”
“It’s a good thing he’s got friends like you,” Christy said. “His only close relatives are his daughter, Evelyn, and her child, but since he doesn’t get along with his son-in-law…” She shrugged.
“What’s the prob
lem between them?” Sister Agatha asked.
“I’m not sure,” Christy said. “Louis told me once that Gerry was an irritating jerk. That was back when they were all living next door, but things didn’t improve much between Louis and Gerry even after Gerry left.”
Sister Agatha walked to the door. “Thanks again.”
As she walked with Pax back to the Harley, Sister Agatha mulled over everything she’d learned. Christy had seemed very open, but there was more to her involvement with the Sanchez family. She could feel it in her bones.
8
HER VISIT WITH THE OTHER NEIGHBORS YIELDED NOTHING new. Frustrated, she returned to the monastery.
As a nun, she’d vowed to let God lead her, to relinquish all her own plans and place herself entirely in His hands. Yet truly letting go of her own opinions and ideas about the way things should be done was the hardest challenge of all.
Knowing that reliable intuitions only came during times of inner silence, she decided to walk in the monastery’s grounds with Pax instead of going inside. Surrounded by stillness and peace, she stopped to gaze at a beautiful white butterfly.
Suddenly a brightly colored box came flying over the block wall that separated their monastery from the vineyard next door. Startled, she froze, but Pax shot forward and began nosing the object on the ground.
Sister Agatha listened for whoever had thrown the box but heard nothing outside the wall, not even footsteps. Whoever was responsible was either extremely light on his feet or still there.
She drew closer to the foil gift container—about the size of a shoe box—and saw Pax turn it over with his snout. A dead crow tumbled out, a tiny circular piece of white cloth wrapped around its neck like a nun’s scapular.
Sister Agatha called Pax to her side immediately and placed him at stay. Crouching, she studied the dead bird. Pinned to its chest was one of their monastery’s prayer cards, the small thank-you tokens given to their benefactors. Each contained a promise that the sisters would pray for the donor’s intentions. This particular one had the letters AMDG written in her own hand at the bottom. It meant Ad majorem Dei gloriam, “to the greater glory of God”—a personal touch she added to each card she handed out.