by Lynne Hinton
“No stone unturned,” Daniel said, glancing over at his former partner with a wink.
“That’s the way we always did it,” Jackson agreed.
“So, what can I do?” Eve asked, rubbing her hands together.
“You can’t do anything,” Daniel answered. “The fact that you were present at the murder scene and then left it before the police arrived, probably dropping your prints everywhere, and because of your known relationship with the victim’s brother and as one of the last people to see him before he ran off, well, you’re what we’d call a person with vital information, Little Sister. You’re a witness. All you can do is stay put and out of the way.”
Eve started to laugh, but the look on Daniel’s face was serious enough that she suddenly understood that this was not teasing from her old friend.
EIGHTEEN
Daniel and Captain Divine left only when Eve promised that she wouldn’t go anywhere. She finally agreed to stay where she was because she decided that it wouldn’t actually be such a bad thing to remain at the monastery and find out more about the writings Anthony had taken from Isleta and what they might mean. She might also get lucky and discover the answer to the all-important question: Who else might know about them? The campus library was full of books and articles about Sister Maria, and Eve thought that examining those resources might lead her to figure out what Anthony had found and what the writings might mean.
She wasn’t sure what Father Oliver had decided to do about the conference scheduled to begin that day, the one she had been so excited to attend, but she guessed with the murder of the keynote speaker, it would be called off. No one would be up for speeches and panel discussions, knowing about the homicide. Daniel had even told her that many of the guests had departed once they were interviewed by the police and had given contact information. It seemed the murder had closed down the monastery for a while.
Before the Captain left, Eve went out to the truck with him to retrieve Daisy’s sandbox and water bowl and other items essential to the cat’s comfort and well-being. When she asked him why exactly he had brought the pet to her, he claimed at first that the cat was driving him crazy without Eve there to care for her, but then later he said he thought she could use a little company, implying that he knew ahead of time that Daniel intended for Eve to stay at the monastery and not return to Madrid.
When she got back to the room, Eve made a small space for the food and water bowls near the desk by the window, filling them both and positioning them on a small towel. She put the litter box underneath the sink in the bathroom, placing a piece of newspaper she had brought with her beneath it before emptying the sand into it.
When she finished setting up her cat’s housekeeping, she jumped onto the bed with Daisy, scratching her long, soft ears and rubbing underneath her chin. She was very glad to have the cat with her, and while she petted the little stray, she recalled some of the animals she had snuck into her room over the twenty years she had been in residence at the monastery. She soon lost count, as there had been so many neglected and abandoned cats and dogs.
“You know you’re trespassing,” she said to Daisy as she stretched out beside Eve on the bed. The purring soon started.
“Yep, it’s true, you are not allowed to be in the living quarters,” she added, recalling the many times she’d heard that very sentence from Father Oliver as well as from some of the older nuns who didn’t want cats and dogs in the residences.
“You can stay outside but not near the front entrance, somewhere out back, and you cannot come in the rooms,” she said, trying to sound strict.
Eve leaned back and threw her arm above her head. “Of course, I guess we’re in the same boat now,” she said. “I guess we’re both actually trespassing these days. Neither of us is welcomed in this community.”
Daisy snuggled inside Eve’s arm, intending to take a nap. Eve moved aside and sat up. She knew there was too much to do to allow herself to fall back to sleep. Besides, she knew she needed to change clothes before somebody else appeared at her door. She thought a shower sounded like a good idea and headed into the bathroom.
She turned on the water, hoping to get it warm before stepping in, and it wasn’t until she was starting to undress that she felt in her pants pocket and found the small torn piece of material that she had taken the night before from the victim’s hand. She turned off the water, went back into the other room, and sat down at the desk, feeling a little guilty for what she had done. She placed the tiny square of blue cloth in front of her.
It was darker than the blue of her New Mexican skies but not as dark as navy. It was closer to the color of turquoise, the stone so popular in the jewelry native to the Southwest. The cloth felt like cotton, nothing synthetic, and the edges were frayed as if the piece had been torn from a larger piece of fabric. It was clearly something Kelly had taken from the last person who had seen her alive. It had to be from her killer, and as Eve smoothed out the small blue piece, she knew she shouldn’t have taken it from the victim’s hand or, at the very least, should have given it to Daniel, who had only just left the room.
I just forgot I had it, she thought, knowing how lame her excuse would sound to the police. She picked up the piece of fabric again and placed it under her nose, checking to see if there was a particular odor to it. There was not. She slid it between her fingers, trying to imagine what the killer was wearing to have left such a small piece.
A robe? she wondered, recalling that the monks never wore that color and suddenly becoming hopeful that this could be evidence that the killer was not Anthony, because surely it could be agreed by everyone who knew him that he was never seen wearing anything this color. Of course, she knew it would be difficult to make the police believe that she had found it in the victim’s hand. “Oh, that’s convenient!” she imagined the officers saying when she handed it over.
She studied the scrap of material more closely and noted that it did appear to be from a more feminine article of clothing, perhaps because of the lightness of the fabric, the bright blue shade. She didn’t know any man who would wear a coat or cloak that color. She touched her face with it, sliding it lightly across her cheek. She closed her eyes and then quickly snapped them back open.
The Blue Nun!
The Indians from the area who had reported the visits from Sister Maria claimed she wore a blue cape; that’s how she got the nickname, after all. Somebody, the murderer, Eve thought, was leaving a clue, letting it be known that he understood the significance of these undisclosed writings. He either wanted the authorities to think the Blue Nun had actually appeared to the victim or that the murder was in some way for her or by her. Eve shook her head.
If the piece of fabric was a clue, it didn’t really make sense as to what meaning the clue held. She knew she should just turn it over to Daniel, and she told herself that was exactly what she would do. Only later, perhaps when they had gotten matches to the fingerprints in the room or when they had other evidence that didn’t incriminate Brother Anthony.
Eve reopened the laptop computer and typed “the Blue Nun” into the small box for the search engine. She scrolled through all of the articles and videos about Sister Maria, most of which she had already read or seen. She went to the second page, clicked on an article from a religious journal, and began to read.
It reported what she had already read—that the nun from Agreda was said to wear a blue cape when she appeared to the Jumano Indians. She made more than five hundred appearances, it noted, all of them while wearing this outer garment. The article also explained that this cape was said to have magical or miraculous powers. It reported that everywhere Sister Maria’s blue cape was said to land, the flowers seen so widely in Texas, bluebonnets, were said to spring up. This state flower was named because the small blossoms looked like the bonnets worn by the pioneer women who traveled to the West. Lupinus texensis could be seen along high
ways and meadows all across the state, blooming from March to May.
The article noted that the legend of the flower in Texas had been told for generations and that no one could trace the origins of this story. Eve picked up the fabric once again and studied it. She turned back to her computer, planning to turn it off and go back into the bathroom to take her shower, when she glanced once again at the screen, the article still there. It was the names of the authors of the piece that captured Eve’s attention.
Dr. Peter Pierce and Dr. Lauren Taylor-Pierce, University of Texas, from 2014.
NINETEEN
Peter Pierce is married? Eve wondered, suddenly very interested in this associate of Kelly Middlesworth. Perhaps this murder didn’t have anything to do with the writings of Sister Maria but rather something as pedestrian as a jealous wife, she thought. She typed the name Lauren Taylor-Pierce into her search engine and found a bio that noted that Lauren Taylor-Pierce, like Peter Pierce and Kelly Middlesworth, was also a professor in Austin, in the Department of Anthropology.
It also appeared to Eve as if the married scholars had written several articles together about indigenous North American cultures and their religious traditions. There were some journal citations about Indian tribes in Mexico, the Aztecs and Toltecs, and the role of the Catholic missionaries who came with the Spanish conquistadores into that country, and a few articles about the New Mexico Pueblo Revolt in 1680 and the consequences for the Catholic missionaries during that event.
Dr. Lauren Taylor-Pierce had written several articles about the Jumano Indians, finding a connection between them and the other Pueblo Indians in central New Mexico and western Texas. She had, in fact, written her thesis about this tribe and the theories concerning what had happened to them, searching out reasons as to why they were no longer in existence. She was cited as an expert in the Jumano culture, while her husband was noted as a religion scholar in the field of Catholicism and the Pueblo Indians.
Eve scrolled through the articles and books attributed to them both, even finding one that included the name of Kelly Middlesworth as one of the contributors, providing a clear connection between the murder victim and these two professional associates. Eve read through a couple of the articles, finding most of them too academic for her, before finally ending her research. She closed the laptop, and as she was taking in all the information she had just uncovered, she suddenly thought about the first case she’d worked on with her father. It had to do with the murder of a Hollywood director, and Eve remembered how quickly everyone had jumped to the conclusion that his mistress, Megan Flint, had been the one who killed him. It was assumed that she had been angry with her lover because he had not been honest with her about his plans to divorce his wife, causing her to snap and consequently kill him in some kind of jealous rage.
“Love can make a person do all kinds of crazy things,” she remembered one of the police officers saying after Megan’s arrest. “Especially when there’s another woman still posing in the family picture.”
She had never really thought that Megan would have murdered Charles Cheston, but she did eventually consider the possibility after Megan confessed to bouts of rage over the fact that her lover had not filed for divorce as he had promised. Even though Eve had never experienced that kind of jealousy or passion in a relationship, she had learned that angry lovers often made serious suspects in murder cases.
Eve picked up the fragment of blue material once again and wondered if the writings of the Blue Nun were used as a cover-up for the real motive for murder. Perhaps Dr. Pierce, Dr. Lauren Taylor-Pierce, had also heard about the grand discovery and decided this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of her husband’s beautiful young associate. She could make sure that the spotlight was shining on the theft as the motive and perhaps even her husband as a suspect, moving the investigation away from her and her jealousy.
“So, what do you think? Was it the jealous wife who killed her?” Eve asked her cat, still lounging on the bed.
Daisy raised her head and then quickly stretched and returned to sleep.
Look at me! I never used to give a thought to the depravity of humans, Eve mused, realizing that as a nun she kept her focus on the goodness of humanity, the divine spark in each soul. However, as a partner to her father, a private detective, she was starting to notice and even expect to see a different side of people, and it was not the most favorable side, she thought.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” she announced and picked up her cell phone. She searched the Internet and found the phone numbers for the University of Texas, including the contact information for the anthropology department. She punched in the number, waited a few seconds, trying to decide exactly what she would say if she did get through to the professor, and then hit the call button.
A recorded greeting came through on the second ring, explaining how to reach various people who worked in the department, listing their names and extensions. When she heard the number for Dr. Lauren Taylor, she punched it in and waited, glancing over at the clock and wondering what an anthropology professor might be doing on a Thursday morning.
As the phone rang, Eve considered what kind of message she might leave, deciding not to give away any information about what had happened at the monastery.
“Dr. Taylor’s office.” It was a real person answering. A woman was on the other end of the line.
Eve swallowed hard. She wasn’t expecting to speak to anyone and suddenly began to regret the decision to make the call.
“Dr. Pierce?” she said after an awkward pause. “Dr. Lauren Taylor-Pierce?” she added, making sure she had dialed the right number.
“Dr. Taylor isn’t in,” came the reply.
Eve sighed, relieved not to be talking to the professor. She paused.
“Hello,” the voice said. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Eve realized she had hesitated a bit too long. “Is she teaching this morning?”
“No, Dr. Taylor doesn’t have a class on Thursdays,” came the reply.
Eve waited, trying to decide what to say or what question to ask.
“Are you a student of hers? You have questions about the midterm?”
“No,” Eve answered. “No, I’m not a student. I’m a colleague; well, more of an old friend, actually, an acquaintance really.” Eve was stumbling.
“Oh, okay.”
Eve cleared her throat.
“Are you a reporter?”
“Um, I do some of that,” Eve replied, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, hating to hear herself tell such a complete lie.
“Are you calling about the recent findings?”
“The recent findings?” Eve repeated.
“Yeah, the writings from the nun in Spain.”
“Sister Maria de Jesus de Agreda?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” the young woman responded.
“Has there been something new discovered?” Eve asked, wondering how many people actually knew about these supposedly secret pages.
“Oh, yeah,” came the reply. “Dr. Taylor went to New Mexico to find out about it, some convent near Santa Fe. You from the Journal?”
“The Journal?”
“Yeah, she said someone from the Journal for the Scientific Study of Religions might be calling. That’s why I’m in her office, taking her calls. She didn’t want to miss any.”
“Oh, okay,” Eve replied. “Um, no, I’m not from the Journal for the Scientific Study of Religions. I’m from the Journal of Native American Anthropology,” she added, making up the name of a magazine. “We’ve spoken before.”
There was a pause.
“I hadn’t heard of that one,” came the response.
“Right, well …” Eve was backpedaling. “We’re a small journal focusing on …” She stopped.
“Nativ
e American anthropology.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Uh-huh.”
“When did Dr. Pierce leave for New Mexico?” Eve asked, changing the subject.
“Dr. Taylor left this morning,” the young assistant answered, emphasizing the professor’s maiden name. “And I wouldn’t call her that if you want an interview,” she added.
“Pierce?” Eve asked.
“Yep. If you knew her, you’d know she doesn’t want his name connected to hers. It’s been awhile since she did that.”
“Oh?”
“You know, I’m at the computer and I’m searching for the Journal of Native American Anthropology, and there’s not one coming up.” The tone of her voice hinted at suspicion.
“Yes, well, that’s because we’re very new, haven’t even put up the website yet. But we’re working on that, and we’ll show up on Google’s list very soon. Just tell Dr. Pierce, I mean Dr. Taylor, that I’ll be calling again to set up an appointment for an interview when she gets back.”
“You want me to tell her your name?”
Eve thought for a second. “Daisy,” she answered, looking over at her pet. “Daisy Cat.” And she hung up, glad to be done with that call.
TWENTY
Eve decided that after her shower she should extend that special brand of Benedictine hospitality by finding the two college professors and introducing herself, thereby getting a better read on them. She hurried through the shower, dressed, and towel-dried her hair. After placing the towel back on the rack, Eve took a long look at herself in the mirror. She suddenly noticed the wrinkles around her eyes and the gray strands in her hair. She leaned in, getting a closer look, and shook her head. Studying herself this way seemed like a new experience, and she wondered why she was even doing it. She certainly didn’t plan to change anything regarding her appearance. She wasn’t about to start wearing lipstick or eyeliner like Dorisanne. She wasn’t planning to get a color and cut for her mousy brown hair.