“Then this is really your lucky day! Who needs prayer more than someone who has a new business and is too busy to pray for himself? Prayers can do nothing but bless. And on the temporal side, if you donate the oven to our monastery, you’d have a great write-off for your taxes! You can’t lose.”
“Whoa, Sister!” Merle said, laughing. “You’re one fast talker, I’ll give you that.”
Before she could respond, he held up one hand and went to meet a delivery man who’d come to the door with three large boxes. Seeing Sister Agatha, the delivery man smiled and waved.
“Hello, Joe,” she called back.
Merle signed for the order, then picked up one of the boxes and walked toward a back room.
Sister stepped over to where the remaining two boxes had been placed, then, saying a prayer, picked up one of the packages and followed Merle.
She’d only taken a few steps when a young man around twenty came rushing over. “Sister, that’s too heavy for you. Let me take it.”
“I’m fine. But you can get the third box.”
The young man hesitated. “Are you sure, Sister?”
“Absolutely. I can handle this.” Sister Agatha took a jagged breath, then shifted the box and renewed her grip. A monstrous cramp shot through her arms, but she braced herself and continued. She was not crippled. As long as she refused to accept that label, arthritis would never be able to defeat her.
When she entered the back room, Merle reached to help her, but the young man who’d come in after her cleared his throat and shook his head imperceptibly.
Merle took a step back and cocked his head, gesturing to a shelf on his right. “You can put it over there, Sister.”
A moment later, after she’d set the box down, he smiled at her. “You don’t like to accept help, do you?”
Sister Agatha smiled back. “Not really,” she admitted.
“And yet here you are, asking for help on behalf of the monastery.”
“For God I’d do anything,” she said, her heart in every word she’d uttered, “and right now His monastery needs an oven.”
Merle studied her expression. “You have a real passion for your calling, Sister.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.” She gave him a wide smile. “Does that mean you’re willing to donate two ovens?”
Merle gave her an incredulous look. “Two ovens. A moment ago it was only one!”
“Yes, but you understand so much more now!” she answered. “And we have these little reminders of the service we’ll provide for you in return.” She fished out one of the prayer cards she’d made in the scriptorium and handed it to him. “And for two ovens, I’ll personally say back-to-back novenas for you during the next twelve months.”
He took the card from her hand. “What if I were to tell you that I’m Jewish?”
“Jesus was Jewish. My religion is rooted in yours and we both worship the same God. The letters A M D G at the bottom of the card means Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam—to the Greater Glory of God.”
Merle laughed. “I give up. You may have one oven—the one you were looking at—if I can have a dozen of those cookies every week for the rest of the year.”
“Deal.”
“Will you be wanting to take it with you, or do you expect me to deliver it, too?”
“I’ll make you a trade. Eighteen months worth of prayers plus those weekly Clusters, and you deliver the stove.”
“Two dozen Clusters—one for my customers here—and I’ll make a special sign over the cookies saying that they were baked in one of our ovens at the monastery. We’ll both get good advertising that way.”
“Sounds eminently fair. And you can add the delivery costs as part of the charitable deductions on your taxes, too.”
“Done deal, Sister.”
As she walked to the door, Merle added, “If you ever need a parttime job, come and see me first. I can use a salesperson with your gift of persuasion.”
“Thanks, but I’ve already got a job for life.”
“Not bad, Sister,” he said, laughing as he waved good-bye. “Not bad at all.”
8
IT HAD BEEN A GOOD AFTERNOON AND IT WASN’T EVEN HALF over. In less than an hour she’d managed to get supplies and an oven donated. One of these days, she’d start working on one of the car dealers—the new car dealers. With God’s help, she’d persuade them to provide the perfect transportation vehicle to the monastery. She would have started working on that today—after all, she was on a roll—but Reverend Mother would never allow them to discard the Antichrysler until the rattletrap car died permanently. It was part of honoring their vow of poverty.
Sister Agatha met Sister de Lourdes and Smitty moments later. Except for the front seat, nearly every inch of the old station wagon was filled with supplies.
“There’s more in here than was in those two carts. This can’t be right!” Sister Agatha said.
Smitty grinned at her. “I figured that you probably underestimated the order I’d be putting in, so to save you gas money and the trouble of coming back in a few days, I increased my donation. You owe me another prayer card.”
Speechless and grateful, she pulled one out of her pocket. “Thank you so much on behalf of all the monastery, Smitty.”
After the Antichrysler started up and they got underway, Sister Agatha told Sister de Lourdes about the oven.
“That’s such terrific news! God certainly blessed our trip this morning!” Sister de Lourdes crossed herself. “If people understood the power of prayer, the world would be a different place.”
“When people get caught up in all the pressures of their daily lives, they lose sight of God. It can be hard to focus on Him when the world is screaming in your ears.”
The trip was slow, because the station wagon was heavily loaded and Sister Agatha didn’t want to overtax the engine. They were close to the turnoff to the monastery when Sister Agatha once again saw the beat-up old sedan behind them. She was about to reach for the cell phone to call the sheriff when the car suddenly turned and headed down the same lane it had disappeared down earlier.
She was getting hopelessly paranoid. Someone had gone to town and back—just as they had.
They reached the monastery a short time later. The second the building came into full view, the feelings of well-being that had filled them after their successful run to town suddenly vanished.
“Oh my!” Sister de Lourdes whispered.
Other, more direct words popped into Sister Agatha’s head, but mercifully her heart had leaped to her throat, making speech impossible.
Their monastery looked like it had been hit by a hurricane and a tornado at the same time. The roof—what remained of it—was mostly in ugly piles on the ground, and in the bed of an old dump truck that had been backed up close to the wall. Tar paper, torn pieces of heavy asphalt sheeting, and water-damaged plywood littered the area adjacent to the outer wall, where a workman was loading a wheelbarrow full of debris. Chaos reigned.
Parking close to the kitchen doors in the back, they hurried inside in a futile attempt to escape the agonized sound of metal scraping against wood, and the scream of power saws. Sporadic hammering inundated the abbey roof like a flock of giant woodpeckers.
Sister Clothilde gave Sister Agatha a pained smile and began to help carry the supplies into the provisory. Sister Agatha could see her mouthing the words of the Little Office of Mary as she worked: “Make haste to help me. Glory be to the Father and to the Son ...”
After everything had been put away, Sister Agatha walked to the parlor. The thunderous noise overhead drowned out the jingle-jangle of Sister Bernarda’s rosary as she paced.
“And they’re trying to be quiet. Can you believe it?” Sister Bernarda said loudly, stopping in midstride and looking at her.
“It’s no better around the kitchen.”
“There’s no escape.”
Sister Agatha hesitated. Noting it, Sister Bernarda added, “What’s on your mind?”
“I need to go back into town. My work’s not done. I need to go talk to Jessica’s neighbors. But you’re working overtime in the parlor as it is…”
“Go, Sister, and find answers. We owe it to Father Mahoney.”
Sister Agatha nodded slowly. “I’ll do my best. But first I’m going to give Reverend Mother some good news,” she said, then told Sister Bernarda about the oven and the supplies.
“That’s wonderful! Mother will be really happy. But she can’t be disturbed right now.”
“What’s happening?”
“The chancellor arrived from the bishop’s office. He’s been with Mother for over an hour.”
Sister Agatha felt her stomach tighten. “And Natalie?”
“They haven’t called for her yet,” she said. “But that matter is out of your hands. Don’t waste time worrying about it. You have other duties to attend to now,” she said in her usual no-nonsense way.
Sister Agatha walked out into the garden looking for Pax, and noticed that the door to St. Francis’s pantry was open. Assuming that one of the externs had gone in there for something, she turned away and continued to the far end of the garden, searching for the dog.
Then, as she considered the possibility that one of the workmen may have gone in there instead of a nun, she turned to look again. One of the sisters came out of the small building, shut the door, then half turned toward her.
From that distance, Sister Agatha couldn’t see her face, particularly because she kept it bowed down, but it had to have been Sister de Lourdes. Sister Agatha waved and tried to catch her attention, but the nun kept walking, her head down. Finally, she went around the building and disappeared from view.
“Where are you going?” Sister Agatha said softly to herself, picking up the pace. Hurrying, Sister Agatha reached the corner of the pantry and stepped onto the flagstone walkway which led to the open gate. The nun had vanished and there was no one in sight.
Looking down at the ground, she noticed one set of large footprints, then observed something very puzzling. The nun, who was wearing boots, had circled around the building as if trying to avoid her.
Returning quickly to the main house, Sister Agatha looked around carefully. The back gate leading to the enclosure side of the garden was open, and just beyond she saw a nun entering through the kitchen door.
Sister Agatha picked up her skirt slightly and broke into a run. She reached the kitchen in ten seconds. When she hurried in, Sister Ignatius was doing kitchen duty, sweeping the refectory floor.
“Who just ran down the hall, Sister?” Sister Ignatius asked, turning to Sister Agatha, who was now standing in the center of the room. “She sprinted past here like the devil was two steps behind her and gaining.”
“I’ve been trying to catch up to her. I know it wasn’t Sister Bernarda, but it didn’t look like Sister de Lourdes from a distance, either. Too tall. I almost caught up to her, but she ditched me. I think she’s wearing the mud boots, too. But none of the cloistered sisters would ever wander out to St. Francis’s pantry.”
“But that leaves only…an intruder?” Sister Ignatius said in a strangled voice.
“Or I could be wrong.” Sister Agatha shook her head, walking quickly to the next doorway.
Sister Agatha hurried down the hall toward the chapel. Entering from the enclosure side, she looked down toward the public entrance. Then she heard the doors click shut. They had been locked, but could have been opened from the inside. She ran the length of the chapel, opened the doors, and nearly collided with a workman pushing a wheelbarrow full of debris.
“Whoa, Sister!” The sweating young man struggled to keep the wheelbarrow from tipping over as she slipped around him, looking everywhere for the other nun.
“Did a nun come out of here just a moment ago, sir?”
“Like a bat out of hell. Oh, excuse me, Sister. No, wait, you can say hell, right?” He chuckled. “What’s going on? You have a fight or something?”
“Where’d she go?” With every passing second she was becoming more convinced that the person she’d seen hadn’t been a nun at all. She looked down at the man’s feet. He had on lace-up boots.
“I think the nun ran out the front gate. Fast, too.”
“Thanks.” Sister Agatha jogged over to the motorcycle, and hopped on. The Harley’s V-twin engine sound was distinctive, and Sister Bernarda came to the parlor window. Sister Agatha saw her puzzled expression, but there was no time to explain. Wheeling the cycle in the tightest circle she could manage, Sister Agatha put on the gas and roared through the gate.
A hundred yards down the dirt road was a curve. As she eased off the gas and rounded the corner, Sister Agatha noticed something dark and familiar looking in the small drainage ditch beside the road. A habit had been discarded and left in the brush.
“That was no nun,” she grumbled, braking to a sliding halt. Rising up off the seat, she looked around into the brush, hoping to see someone. A line of trees where the bosque began was less than a hundred yards away, and a fence there prevented her from following except on foot.
Motoring down the road slowly, she searched on both sides for signs of anyone, but found only birds, a few squirrels, and a cottontail. Turning around, she went back to the side of the road where she’d seen the discarded habit. Sister Agatha switched off the engine and climbed down from the cycle, then walked over to the ditch. From the habit’s wrinkled appearance, she guessed it had probably been taken from a laundry basket. On the ground beneath it was a pair of rubber mud boots the sisters used for emergencies and messy garden work. That particular pair was easily large enough for a man.
“Sister Agatha?” A voice that sounded like Sister Bernarda’s called from up the road.
“Over here,” she answered.
As Sister Bernarda walked in her direction, Sister Agatha took time to examine the ground nearby. She quickly found what looked like a trail left by someone wearing socks. Then, after a short distance, she saw sneaker imprints leading toward the bosque. The left shoe had a diagonal slash across the heel. If she ever saw it again, the imprint would be easy to recognize.
“What are you doing, Your Charity?” Sister Bernarda’s face was flushed either from the hurried walk and the extra pressure on her ankle, or consternation. “That man with the wheelbarrow told me one nun was chasing the other.”
“Here’s the other nun,” Sister Agatha held up the dirty habit. “Or what’s left of her—or him?”
“You mean we had an intruder dressed as a nun wandering around Our Lady of Hope? That sleazy…,” Sister Bernarda snarled.
“Whatever you were going to say, Sister, I agree. But it should probably be left unspoken.”
“We need to call the sheriff’s department,” Sister Bernarda said. “You have the cell phone, don’t you?”
“Yes. But first I’ll take you back home,” she said. “Someone needs to look around the monastery and make sure everyone is safe— especially our guest.”
“I made her lock her door, and Sister de Lourdes is with her now.”
Sister Agatha climbed onto the seat and started the engine. By then, her companion had already climbed into the sidecar.
Ten minutes later Sister Agatha was on her way into town with Pax. The sheriff’s department had been called, and because Tom Green hadn’t been at the station, she’d made a quick report to the officer on duty. A deputy would be sent to the neighborhood to ask residents if they’d seen any strangers, but Sister Agatha doubted they’d be very much help, either. Later, an officer would drop by the monastery and get statements from anyone there who might have seen the bogus nun.
This time as she drove to town she remained alert for the beat-up red sedan which had taken on an all-new significance because of the intruder. But the vehicle was nowhere in sight.
Hoping to make some progress, Sister Agatha proceeded to Jessica Tannen’s home and parked out by the street. The police tape was still around the house, but she hadn’t planned on goi
ng inside. Getting Natalie’s angel doll out in broad daylight would have been too risky. She’d come to talk to Jessica’s neighbors, so, sticking to her plan, she went next door and knocked.
A woman in her late sixties or early seventies wearing workmen’s overalls answered the door. “Can I help you?”
“I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Jessica, your next-door neighbor.”
She eyed Pax with suspicion. “Is he housebroken?”
“And very well trained,” Sister Agatha answered.
“Well then, you better come in and take a load off,” she said, then led her to a small, homey kitchen and waved her to a chair. “I was just having something to drink. You can join me.”
As she stepped into the kitchen, Sister Agatha saw a brindle pit bull curled up on a bed in the corner of the kitchen. Automatically, she grabbed Pax’s collar and took a step back.
Seeing it, the woman smiled and shook her head. “Stinkerbelle’s older than dirt and deaf as a stone. Don’t worry about her. She probably won’t wake up as long as your dog don’t bother her.”
Sister Agatha placed Pax at “down and stay” and kept a cautious eye on the other animal, but she hadn’t even stirred.
“Sorta looks like she’s gone and died, don’t it? But she hasn’t. If you look really close, you’ll see her take a breath now and then.”
Sister Agatha took a sip of the coffee she was offered and nearly gagged. It was the worst she’d ever had. Not even milk could dilute the burnt taste.
“I don’t think I introduced myself properly. I’m Sister Agatha, from Our Lady of Hope Monastery. This is Pax.”
The woman laughed. “Sister, you don’t need an introduction. I read the newspapers. Once I saw that bright motorcycle come roaring up, I knew exactly who you were. I’m Esther Reinhart,” she said, extending her hand.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Sister Agatha said, shaking her hand.
“Now tell me, how I can help you.”
“First, can you tell me how well you know Jessica Tannen?”
“I can’t say we’re close friends, but we often stand at the fence and talk. I’ve asked her over a few times, but she’s always busy. She works long hours, and when she’s home I think she spends her time catching up on the chores. But we’re good neighbors. She keeps an eye on my place when I’m not home and I do the same for her.”
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