The Prodigal Nun

by Aimée Thurlo

  “The sooner you find the deputy who betrayed the department’s trust, the quicker you’ll be able to get back to normal,” she said, standing. “I’m going to check out McKay next. If I find anything you need to know about, I’ll be in touch right away.” Tossing the empty napkin into his trash can, she added, “Thanks so much for lunch.”

  “Watch yourself. McKay’s off duty right now.” Tom glanced down the hall. “Where’s Pax? Did you bring him into town? You need him with you these days.”

  “He’s got infirmary duty, but I’ll go back for him. Reverend Mother prefers for us not to go out alone when at all possible.”

  “She’s right. Danger could come from anywhere—and probably when you’re least expecting it.”

  Sister Agatha returned to the monastery. After leaving word for Reverend Mother about her progress, she went to find Pax. As she walked in through the garden gate, she saw the dog jumping up into the air, chasing butterflies. She chuckled softly, envying his carefree life.

  Sister Agatha whistled for him, and Pax came rushing over. Soon they were on their way to town in the Antichrysler. Sergeant Michael McKay lived in Questa Verde, one of the newer neighborhoods. The homes here all looked pretty much the same except for the exterior paint color.

  It didn’t take her long to find McKay’s home. His squad car was parked in the driveway of the two-car garage. Next to it was a humongous pickup with the type of option package that usually made men salivate—extra lights, trim, toolboxes, mirrors, oversized chrome wheels, big bumpers, and a fancy paint scheme.

  Sister Agatha drove past his front window even slower than the twenty miles per hour the speed limit sign called for, trying to sneak a peek inside. As she did, she caught a glimpse of an enormous flat-screen TV. She’d seen plenty of big TVs before, but this one was about the size of the wall. McKay was there, too, a beer bottle in his hand, intent on the basketball game he was watching.

  “We need to get a closer look, Pax. Let’s park a street away, then walk back. No one will bother us. Most people will assume we’re here to ask for donations and do their best not to make eye contact.” She remembered the telephone company man who’d given her the twenty. “Of course, there are exceptions.”

  As they approached the deputy’s home, she slowed her step. She wouldn’t risk walking directly past the front window in case he happened to look out or could see a reflection of the window on his big-screen TV. They’d met before and spoken briefly when he’d been on duty outside the monastery, so if he saw her here he’d know he was under suspicion.

  The backyard was encased by cedar fencing, but the gate was unlocked. Alone, she knew she’d make almost no noise, so Sister Agatha signaled Pax to stay and went through silently, closing the gate behind her out of habit.

  The first thing Sister Agatha noticed was the huge stainless steel gas grill. This man clearly had a thing for big. The outdoor appliance looked incredibly expensive. There was a large work surface, four main burners, a split-fork rotisserie, and two infrared side burners—at least that was what their labels said. McKay could cook for the entire neighborhood with this setup. Compared to this hardware, Deputy Bennett’s grill was from the Stone Age.

  She was edging around an outdoor dining group with a round inlaid mosaic table when she heard a deep-throated growl. It didn’t sound like Pax.

  Sister Agatha turned her head and spotted a rottweiler near the far corner of the house. Muttering a “good boy,” she started a slow backpedal toward the gate. She’d taken only a few steps when the dog came at her. Acting instinctively, she hopped onto a metal side table and stepped over onto the grill. She stood in the center of the work surface, one foot on either side of the burners.

  The fence was three feet away. Sister Agatha wondered if she could make the jump without snagging her long habit on the wooden rails. Inching closer, she put out her foot. Just then the big black dog lunged upward, barely missing her heel with a snap of his jaws.

  The dog was obviously trained not to bark, merely to attack. The realization frightened her as much as the possibility that McKay would catch her dancing atop his outdoor kitchen. She glanced toward the window and noted with relief that he was apparently still engrossed in the game.

  Grateful for the impulse that had led her to close the gate, she called out, “Pax, speak!”

  When Pax began to bark, the rottweiler took off and ran to the gate. The black and tan dog didn’t bark back, but his low growl made her skin crawl.

  While the two dogs spoke in their own language, Sister Agatha stepped over onto the top rail of the cedar fence. She jumped down onto the ground on the other side, going into an instantaneous crouch to absorb the fall, and called Pax to her.

  Soon they were hurrying away, heading toward the easement road behind the homes. Once they were several houses away from McKay’s, they walked back along a shallow drainage ditch that directed rainwater away from the cul-de-sac ahead. At the curb, standing between houses, she stood under the shade of a locust tree and caught her breath.

  A tall man with a ramrod-straight back came off the porch of his home and approached her. “Can I help you, Sister?”

  “Hello,” Sister Agatha said brightly, thinking fast. “I came to invite you and your neighbors to daily Mass at Our Lady of Hope Monastery. The sheriff’s department is now keeping a careful watch over us, and we wanted people to know that they’d be safe.”

  “Most of my neighbors work, so I’m not sure they can make weekday Mass, but you’re welcome to talk to anyone you find,” he said, not responding directly to her invitation. “I’m Hugh Eberly, the head of the Neighborhood Watch Association. I heard a dog barking a few minutes ago and came out to see what was going on. Did you happen to spot anything unusual while you were walking around?”

  “A dog barked at us a while ago. The animals around here aren’t used to seeing a nun’s habit, I suppose,” she answered with a smile. Gesturing to McKay’s squad car, she continued, “I can’t imagine you’d have much of a crime problem with a deputy living in the neighborhood. Having his department vehicle in plain sight is a great deterrent, don’t you think?”

  “You never know these days,” he said sadly.

  “Our deputies must have finally gotten that raise they’ve been wanting,” she added offhandedly. “That’s some fancy truck!”

  “I haven’t heard anything about a raise. McKay inherited some money from his father, so that’s probably why he was able to buy that truck. His dad passed away last month in Amarillo.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s hard to lose a parent.”

  “I don’t think they were close,” Hugh answered.

  Sister Agatha glanced at her watch, then back at him. “I have to be on my way. Please remember that our chapel is always open and ready to welcome everyone.”

  Once in the Antichrysler, Sister Agatha called Tom and updated him on McKay’s recent spending spree, mentioning what she’d seen in his backyard.

  “You had no business whatsoever going onto his property, Sister. McKay’s a law enforcement officer, and he deserves more respect than that. You were lucky you didn’t get caught—or worse.”

  “Tom, I did what you couldn’t so we could get some answers. This new information can be useful. Or have you already investigated McKay’s newfound wealth and just not bothered to mention it to me?”

  “Back off McKay,” he said, his voice suddenly very hard. “Am I clear?”

  “I’ve barely gotten started,” she protested.

  “There’s a legal issue in play here that makes it impossible for me to say any more. You have to back off.”

  Sister Agatha knew an order when she heard one. Was it possible that another agency was already investigating McKay and Tom had just found out?

  “All right, then,” she said. “Have you heard if the lab will be able to reconstruct the serial numbers on the weapon I found?”

  “I checked with them a short while ago. They believe they can but have no
idea how long that’s going to take. The state crime lab is always backed up, and the situation is even worse these days because of all the budget cuts they’ve had.”

  After saying good-bye, Sister Agatha sat quietly in the Antichrysler with Pax. Although the key was in the ignition, she didn’t start the engine, not wanting to waste precious gasoline until she knew where to go next. While she gave the matter some thought, her cell phone rang.

  “Sister Agatha, I’m glad I got you. This is Chuck at the Chronicle. I think you better come over.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’d rather show you when you get here. And, Sister? Brace yourself.”

  His words had sparked her curiosity, and she drove there as quickly as the speed limit would allow. She was at the Chronicle five minutes later, and Chuck greeted her at the door.

  “Come in, Sister. There’s something I want to show you,” he said, leading the way to his desk. He then reached into a manila folder and presented her with a handwritten letter.

  Sister Agatha scanned it quickly. The letter had been written to the editor of the Chronicle by Del Martinez’s wife. The woman blamed her husband’s recent conviction and prison sentence on what she claimed was Sister Agatha’s biased and misleading testimony. She told of the suffering her family had endured and accused Sister Agatha of coming by their home and threatening to have Del’s parole revoked.

  “None of this is true. You know that, right?” Sister Agatha asked Chuck at last.

  He nodded. “That’s why I wanted you to see it. With your background, I’m sure you can write a killer rebuttal letter, and I can print both side by side.”

  She considered it for several long moments, then shook her head. “No. I won’t dignify these accusations with a response. Folks familiar with the case will already know it wasn’t just my testimony that got Del sent away—it was all the physical evidence, the money trail, and the other witnesses who were also ripped off. Del and his family are trying to avoid taking personal responsibility for their own actions, that’s all.”

  “Point all that out in a rebuttal letter, Sister. It can’t hurt.”

  She shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. It’s just not our way. We follow in the footsteps of Our Lord, and fighting back like this isn’t part of the package I signed up for,” she said with a smile.

  “Are you sure, Sister? I’ve got to go to press, and if you change your mind a few hours from now, it’ll be too late.”

  “That’s all right, but thanks for letting me know in advance.” Sister Agatha remained seated, her fingers entwined around the rosary that hung from her rope belt.

  Chuck smiled. “What’s up, Sister? You’ve got something else on your mind.”

  “I could sure use a favor, Chuck, but you’d have to keep this to yourself for now. Is that okay?”

  He grinned even wider. “Same deal? I get the story first?”

  “If there is one, yes,” Sister Agatha answered.

  “Then shoot.”

  “I’d like you to use the Chronicle’s Internet connection to access the obit columns of an Amarillo, Texas, newspaper. I need whatever you can find on the death of Sergeant Michael McKay’s father.”

  Chuck did a search for the last name McKay, and two showed up, but they were sisters in their late twenties who’d died in an automobile accident. As Chuck continued working time passed slowly. Sister Agatha had just begun wondering if McKay had made up the whole story about his father’s death when Chuck suddenly let out a whoop.

  “Got it! I decided to check into the archives for the name Michael McKay, and here’s what I found,” he said, pointing to the screen. “This account names him as the only surviving member of Henry McKay’s immediate family. Deputy McKay’s father didn’t die last month, though. He passed on six years ago,” Chuck said.

  “Interesting,” Sister Agatha muttered. “With Michael being the only close relative still alive, I doubt any legal issues over a will would have taken that long to resolve.”

  Sister Agatha sat back, considering what she’d learned. She’d have to give Tom the news soon, too, though he’d asked her to back off. Of course, Tom knew that obedience had never come easily to her.

  “I better get going,” she said, standing. Maybe she’d be graced with divine inspiration between here and the station. She had to find a way to tell Tom what she’d learned without starting World War III.

  As she stepped outside, she spotted someone crouched down beside the Antichrysler. At the sound of the exit door, the woman looked up, and Sister Agatha immediately recognized Del Martinez’s wife. She’d been letting the air out of the front tire. From what Sister Agatha could see, the rear tire on that side was already flat.

  Sister Agatha kept a firm hand on Pax, who was straining at the leash, growling. Then, hearing a click behind her, she turned her head quickly and saw Chuck taking a photo with his cell phone.

  Gloria Martinez stood up and glared at Sister Agatha. “Go ahead, let your dog attack. I’ll sue, and it’ll cost you plenty.”

  “I have no intention of turning the dog loose,” Sister Agatha said, forcing Pax to sit quietly with a snap of the leash. “We forgive our enemies. It’s what Our Lord asked us to do and one of the best ways we have to honor Him in our daily lives.”

  “I’m not so sainted, and I’ve got the sheriff on speed dial. Get away from Sister’s car,” Chuck ordered. “And you’re on private property. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll press charges.”

  Sister Agatha placed a hand on Chuck’s arm, holding him back, then looked back at Gloria. “You know the truth, Gloria. I didn’t send your husband to jail—his own actions did. There was more than enough evidence to convict him, even without my testimony.”

  Sister Agatha saw the raw pain that flashed in Gloria’s eyes and gentled her tone as she continued. “You’re hurting inside, and you want to strike out. I understand that. You’re human. But you’re only going to make things worse for Del and yourself this way. The last thing either of you needs is more bad publicity.”

  Gloria took a step back, tears running down her face, then ran to a sedan parked just down the street.

  As Gloria’s car sped away, Sister Agatha breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. That could have turned very nasty.”

  Chuck studied the flat tires. “At least she didn’t damage the tires. The valve cores are still here on the ground, and all I have to do is screw them back in with the same kind of valve cap tool she used. I can get you rolling in fifteen minutes. I’ve got a small compressor in my car’s emergency kit.”

  As he walked over to his car, Sister Agatha kept her hand on Pax’s head. It wasn’t for the dog’s benefit as much as her own. Pax was calm now, but she wasn’t. Petting the dog always soothed her and helped get her thinking back on track.

  Chuck returned, parked his vehicle next to hers, screwed the cores back in with a special valve cap, then hooked up the compressor to a dashboard outlet. “I’m running the photo of Gloria Martinez letting the air out of your tire right next to her letter,” he said, inflating the Antichrysler’s tires.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Sister, that’s balanced news, and that’s what I do as a reporter. No way I’m not running it.”

  She knew from his tone that she wouldn’t dissuade him, so she didn’t press the issue.

  After the tires had been inflated, Sister Agatha slipped behind the wheel. “Thanks for your help, Chuck. Next time I’m in town I’ll bring you some of Sister Clothilde’s cookies,” she promised.

  “No way I’m turning that down!” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Sister Agatha knew exactly what she had to do next. She had to go talk to Tom. Bracing herself, she called ahead to let him know she was coming.

  Tom saw her arrive, and after one look at her, his expression changed and turned dour. He knew her visit wouldn’t bring him news he’d welcome.

  “My office, right?” he asked in a taut voice as she
came up to him.

  “I think you’ll prefer it that way. Will it create any more problems with you-know-who?” She cocked her head toward the area where Fritz Albrecht had his desk.

  “He’s not around at the moment,” Tom answered. “By the way, I spoke to the mayor a while ago. I told him that I was using you as an informant, and unless he wanted me to start paying you like we usually do with snitches, he shouldn’t complain.”

  “Imagine, me, a snitch. How’d he take that?” Sister Agatha tried to suppress a grin.

  “I don’t know. He hung up on me.” Tom led the way down the hall, then invited her in. “Let me guess,” he said, taking a seat behind his desk. “You’ve done something I’m going to regret even more than dissing the mayor?”

  “You may not like what I did,” she admitted, “but you need to know what I found out.” As she’d hoped, her words immediately caught his attention.

  Tom sat up a little straighter and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Go on.”

  She told him what she’d learned, then waited, sensing that he was more intrigued than angry now.

  “It shouldn’t surprise me that you didn’t let this go,” he said at last, then expelled his breath in a hiss. “McKay has a high-profile alibi for the time of the murder, Sister. He was playing a round of golf that morning, and in addition to the others in the foursome, the clubhouse staff was also able to verify his presence. McKay bought a three-hundred-dollar driver right before tee time.”

  “Where does the high-profile part come in?”

  “One of the golfers in the foursome was State Senator Holman.”

  She sucked in her breath. Another promising lead had just gone up in smoke.

  “If you insist on investigating McKay, make darned sure he doesn’t catch you snooping around, Sister Agatha. He’s currently seeing an anger management counselor—a requirement after a nasty incident. Michael might come across as overly polite and calm these days, but that’s only because he wants the counseling sessions to end. Believe me, you never want to see the other side of him. We’re also looking into a departmental issue that concerns him, but that’s something I absolutely can’t discuss further.”