Prey for a Miracle

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  Sister Agatha didn’t wait. She reached for her cell phone, called Tom, and relayed what Sister Bernarda had just told her.

  “Sharp eyes,” he said. “Sister Bernarda probably saw one of my deputies. John was in that area watching for activity. Hang on.” He put her on hold for a few minutes, then finally returned. “John says that he wasn’t below the levee, but maybe Sister Bernarda’s directions were a little off or she just saw a reflection from a broken beer bottle tossed off the levee. We’re going to check the area just in case. I’ll let you know tomorrow if we find anything.”

  Sister Agatha gave Sister Bernarda the gist of what Tom had said, then went to tuck Natalie into bed.

  Natalie smiled as Sister Agatha came into the room. “Don’t worry, Sister. From now on, I’ll take Gracie with me everywhere. I won’t let her out of my sight again.”

  “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

  Sister Agatha turned off the light, then walked back to the parlor.

  “I’ll stay here tonight,” Sister Bernarda said. “And Sister de Lourdes will take over for me at daybreak.”

  Sister Agatha walked silently down the hall. She’d missed Vespers, Compline, and Reverend Mother’s Noctem Quietam blessing before bedtime. The Liturgical Hours and the customary of the monastery weren’t duties to be followed blindly. They were threads that, woven together, formed the fabric of a life devoted to God alone. Without the wellspring of support that gave her, she felt cut off.

  Being an extern was a privilege, but it was also the hardest duty of all.

  21

  SISTER AGATHA ROSE AT THE SOUND OF THE BELL RUNG faithfully at four thirty each morning. Matins had to be sung before daybreak. It would be followed by Lauds—the hour of pure praise at dawn—then Mass and breakfast.

  As she went by the parlor, she found Sister de Lourdes had already taken over for Sister Bernarda. Since the Great Silence wouldn’t be broken until after Morning Prayers—what had once been called Prime—Sister de Lourdes pointed to the chapel, then quickly wrote a note.

  Sister Bernarda will attend the morning Office. You can, too. I’ll stay here with Natalie and wake her up for breakfast at six thirty.

  “Thank you,” Sister Agatha mouthed noiselessly.

  Matins was a prayer meant to counter the evils that seemed to grow stronger in the absence of light. As the nuns’ voices rose in chant, a welcoming peace settled over her. Here and now, she was in the sweet presence of God. He was faithful. He had promised to be with those who believed—always. This was the peace he’d offered— that when they prayed as one, His presence would fill their hearts.

  Her courage renewed, she was ready to face the day. After Mass and a quick breakfast she hurried to the parlor. Sister de Lourdes and Natalie had already gone to the crafts room and Sister Bernarda was at her post alone.

  “I can take over for you this morning, Sister Bernarda. You’ve been putting in long hours as portress,” Sister Agatha said.

  “Thanks. I’d really welcome time for silent meditation in chapel. By the way, I was told by Justin Clark, the foreman, that they’ll finish the roof today for sure. Although Del Martinez hasn’t been found, Grayson Construction has guaranteed the work and the workers their paychecks.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “He also answered another question that has been puzzling us,” Sister Bernarda said. “The one-thousand-dollar donation we received apparently came from one of the roofers. He won the New Mexico lottery the other day—five thousand dollars—and left the money for us because he wanted to make amends.”

  “For what?”

  “According to Mr. Clark, the roofer was responsible for dropping the debris that nearly clobbered you. It was an accident, but he was afraid to say anything because he thought he’d get fired. Still, he wanted to make things right, so he asked Saint Joseph, the patron saint of working men, to show him how. A few days after that he won the money. He paid off some overdue bills and gave us what was left after taxes.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Mr. Clark promised not to reveal his name, but the man asked that we forgive him for his carelessness. I told Mr. Clark to tell him he could consider it done.”

  When Sister Bernarda opened the doors to the enclosure, ready to go now that Sister Agatha had agreed to take over as portress, the acrid scent of smoke drifted into the small room. Sister Bernarda and Sister Agatha exchanged quick glances, then both ran down the hall, searching for the source.

  As they ran through the refectory, they saw Sister Clothilde and Sister Maria Victoria opening windows as a choking, heavy smoke poured out of one of the ovens in the kitchen.

  “Is everyone all right?” Sister Agatha asked quickly, looking around to make sure no one had been burnt.

  “It’s our old oven. It went into meltdown,” Sister Maria Victoria said. “I’m not at all sure what we’re going to do. We still have our new oven but with only one we won’t be able to keep up.”

  “This is partly my fault,” Sister Bernarda muttered. “We’re supposed to turn the other cheek, but I’ve always stunk at that,” she said softly. “When the bakery in town started making their version of our Clusters, I asked God to let the fires of hell rage in their ovens. But now it’s our oven that burned itself to a crisp. I don’t think it’s coincidence. I think God’s trying to tell me something.”

  Sister Agatha understood guilt better than anyone. “Well, a little penance wouldn’t hurt, but the monastery’s oven is older than dirt. This was bound to happen with the stress we’ve been putting on it.”

  “As far as I’m concerned this is a wake-up call—for all of us,” Sister Ignatius said slowly. “We got so busy trying to help ourselves— running a business and making money—that we forgot that it’s God who provides for us, in the right way at the right time.”

  One could avoid the truth, but never escape it completely. Once confronted, truth ripped apart any illusion or pretense that had stood in its path.

  “You’re right. We’ve put too much emphasis on the business side of the scale and not enough on God’s,” Sister Agatha said.

  Reverend Mother, who’d come up to stand behind them, cleared her throat. “I tried to guard against that, but it happened anyway when we weren’t looking. Have all the sisters gather in the recreation room. It’s time to reestablish our priorities.”

  Twenty minutes later, with the distant sound of hammering overhead, Reverend Mother presented the problem to all except Sister de Lourdes, who was with Natalie.

  “Our Rule stipulates that we live by the work of our hands, but our priority is to serve God. We can’t continue our current work schedule and still honor our primary duty,” she said. “That’s why I’m considering licensing our recipe to the bakery in town—providing we can get a good price. If not, we’ll continue to bake the cookies here—but only during the times we normally set aside for manual labor. Does anyone object?”

  When no one spoke, Reverend Mother continued. “Very well then. This is God’s house. Let His will be done.”

  A brief prayer closed the meeting, but a new spirit had been kindled in them all. As Sister Bernarda returned to the parlor, Sister Agatha took the opportunity to go back to the chapel. Alone, she prayed without words, letting her love for God and His Son speak in a language that came from the heart and needed no other form of expression.

  After Sext, the sixth hour of prayer, Sister Agatha walked to the crafts room and watched Natalie fashion another clay angel while Pax lay at her feet.

  Sensing her, Natalie looked up and smiled. “This one’s special. Would you like to see?” she asked, stepping back.

  Sister Agatha looked down at the sculpture. The folds in the figure’s long robes gave the impression that it had been walking, while the mica in the clay gave an ethereal quality to the angel’s facial features. “It’s really outstanding, Natalie,” she said honestly. “No wings this time?”

  “This is the angel who watches over the monastery—or as near
as I can sculpt him. He doesn’t have wings.”

  Sister Agatha pointed to a small, shaped piece of clay on Natalie’s right. “And that?”

  “It’s the sword he carries, though his is made of light.” Natalie looked up at Sister Agatha and smiled. “It’s my present to the monastery. I’ll be leaving here pretty soon.” Her smile faded. “Mom and I will move to a new place where nobody knows us.”

  “Your angel told you this?”

  She nodded. “It’ll be lonely for a while, but I’ll have Samara, and Mom, and Gracie.”

  “And you’ll still have all of us here. Our prayers will follow you wherever you go.”

  “I won’t forget any of you. I always remember my friends. Thanks to Gracie, I won’t even forget my dad, even though I’ve never met him.”

  “Now you’ve lost me. Are you saying that Gracie looks like your dad?”

  She laughed. “No, Sister. Gracie’s just a doll. She doesn’t look like anyone except Gracie. But Mom gave me a photo of Dad she’d found in the bottom of a drawer a few years ago. She’d thrown the rest out and put that one in the garbage, too, but I found it and cleaned it off so she let me keep it. It’s in Gracie’s purse so Mom won’t ever have to look at it.” She paused, then added, “That’s been Gracie’s job—keeping Dad’s photo. Mom said that a dad is one who sticks around and takes care of you, so he wasn’t really my dad. But I still wanted to know what he looked like. Wanna see?”

  She nodded, wondering why neither she nor Tom ever asked Natalie if she had a photo of her dad.

  Natalie reached into the doll’s purse and handed Sister Agatha the photo, which had been folded in half. It was crumpled and damaged, something Sister Agatha assumed was from its brief stay in the garbage. The man’s face was slightly out of focus, but he looked familiar somehow. He had a full face, brown hair, brown eyes, and a mustache, but no distinguishing features. Only his chunky upper body was visible as he rested in a chair, beer bottle in his hand.

  It was far from an idyllic pose, and not likely to inspire Natalie’s fantasies about her father. Maybe that was why Jessica had allowed her to keep it.

  “Natalie, will you let me borrow it for a few hours? I promise to take very good care of it,” Sister Agatha said.

  Natalie hesitated. “Why do you want it?”

  “Now that your mom’s not well, the sheriff’s been trying to find your dad. This photo might help,” she said, bending the truth. The fact was she wanted to give herself a chance to figure out why it looked familiar.

  “Okay, go ahead, but give it back. It’s my only one.”

  “I promise. And I’ll leave Pax with you in the meantime so it’s more like a temporary trade. How’s that?”

  Natalie smiled and hugged the dog. “Great.”

  When Sister Agatha walked into the parlor a few minutes later, she saw Mr. Dexter, the owner of Bountiful Bakery, there with Sister Bernarda. “Mr. Dexter is demanding to speak to Reverend Mother,” she said coldly.

  Sister Agatha gave him a level gaze. “And this in reference to…?”

  Mr. Dexter took a deep breath, then let it out again. “Look, I’m only here to call a truce,” he said.

  “Mr. Dexter, I assure you that we’re not behind the picketing or the boycott of your bakery.”

  “Effective immediately, we’re no longer baking Coconut Clones,” he said, not responding to what she’d said. “Please tell everyone involved so we can settle this. Cookie sales are an important part of our business, but I’d rather give them up completely than lose my bakery. That boycott has really been hurting us.”

  Sister Agatha thought about the situation and, remembering Reverend Mother’s plan, said, “Mr. Dexter, I have a business proposition for you. Earlier you offered to license our cookies and give us a ‘small’ percentage of the profits. But we need the income this provides, so we can’t afford to just give this away. If you’re willing to make us a fair offer, I think we can come to terms. Are you interested?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then get an offer ready and take it to Maria Fuentes, our attorney.”

  As soon as Mr. Dexter left, Sister Agatha turned to Sister Bernarda. “I need you to tell Reverend Mother about this. I’ll contact Maria later and bring her up to speed, but first I’ve got to go see the sheriff.”

  Sister Agatha arrived at the station twenty minutes later, and as she climbed off the Harley, Sister Bernarda called her on the cell phone. “Reverend Mother says that if the attorney agrees to take her fee from the sale you should go ahead and complete all the arrangements.”

  “Okay. Thanks for letting me know,” Sister Agatha said.

  Once inside the station, Sister Agatha went directly to Tom’s office, but he wasn’t there. Seeing Millie Romero, she went up to meet her. “I’ve some news for Tom. Do you know where I can find him?”

  “We got a break on the Jessica Tannen case and he went to make an arrest. Apparently Springer—the reporter from The Inquisitor— had rented another vehicle before he got the car he’s using now. It was a light-colored pickup and Springer returned it damaged. Springer claimed to have scraped a fence post, but that, coupled with an alibi that can’t be verified, convinced Sheriff Green to bring Springer in. We have people checking the rental pickup. If the damage and paint flakes match Jessica Tannen’s vehicle, that’ll give us something we can take to the D.A.”

  Sister Agatha thought back to her meeting with Jack Springer. He’d been eager to get the story, but why would he have stuck around if he’d been the one to cause the accident? He would have known that the rental truck’s paper trail would lead back to him. In that situation, an intelligent person would have made sure the pickup was stolen or burned to a crisp, knowing the rental insurance would protect him. Something wasn’t right.

  Sister Agatha took the photo of Henry Tannen out of her pocket. “Millie, will you do me a favor? Can you run this photo through one of those computer imaging programs that can, say, remove the mustache, and maybe alter the hair color?”

  “Sure. The scanner and software for that are on one of the lab computers. But I better warn you that the results won’t be spectacular. This photo isn’t very clear.”

  “Just do your best. I’ll leave the photo with you while I go see Maria Fuentes on monastery business. I won’t be long.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Maria was saying good-bye to someone on the telephone as Sister Agatha stepped inside the attorney’s office. Sister Agatha sat down and filled her in on their business with the Dexters. “Can you negotiate the terms and do the paperwork for us? We can pay you from the proceeds.”

  She nodded. “I’ll get back to you once I speak to Mr. Dexter, but I’m sure I can get you a good deal.”

  “Thanks, Maria. We really appreciate that. Call me whenever you’re ready.”

  Sister Agatha walked back to the station, eager to see how successful Millie had been in using the computer imaging program. As she walked inside, Millie came up to meet her, several printed images in hand.

  “Here we go, Sister. No mustache, and each one has a different hair color.”

  Sister Agatha sorted through the photos, but still couldn’t figure out where she’d seen Henry Tannen before, or if perhaps he just resembled someone she knew or had known. “The man spent several years in prison and may have gained or lost weight. Can you make his face a little heavier, then thinner?”

  “Hang on. I’ll give it a try.”

  She returned a minute later with two more printouts. “Here you go.”

  The first one, with the extra weight, wasn’t much help, but as she studied the second photo, showing sharper features and more prominent cheekbones, she realized why the face was vaguely familiar. If Henry Tannen had lost weight and cut his hair much shorter, he would now resemble Andrew.

  She studied it more carefully. “I’m not sure if I’ve got something here or not, but this photo makes him look a bit like our new Parcel Express deliveryman, the same man who sa
w Natalie’s doll…”

  “I’ll pass this information on to the sheriff.”

  Sister Agatha went out quickly to the Harley, then decided to go visit the Parcel Express office on Albuquerque’s west side. The drive seemed interminable as new questions and potential connections began to stack up in her mind. When she finally arrived, thirty minutes later, she hurried inside. A young man wearing a light brown uniform greeted her from behind the counter. “I bet you don’t remember me, Sister! I’m Michael Reyes. My dad was the handyman at the church in Bernalillo for many years.”

  “Sure, I remember you.” Seizing the opportunity, Sister Agatha continued. “Michael, I need your help. I need to ask you a few questions about our new driver, Andrew. I don’t know his last name, but he’s got short brown hair, brown eyes, is about thirty-five, and a bit shorter than you. He’s also more slender.”

  “I know who you mean. What’s the problem?”

  “I’m worried about him. He does a good job and carries all the packages, even the real heavy ones, but he always looks so tired, even early in the day.”

  “Yeah, it’s sad. The job is wearing him down because he’s got the big C. Lost a ton of weight, so he said. He hasn’t been working here long enough to be eligible for medical insurance, either. But you’ve got to admire his upbeat attitude. He tells everyone that he’s going to turn this thing around pretty soon.”

  “A good mental attitude is important,” Sister Agatha said slowly. “Could you check and see if he’s supposed to make a delivery or pickup at the monastery today?”

  “I don’t have that info on my terminal, so give me a sec to check with the dispatcher,” Mikey said, picking up the telephone and pressing a button. A few moments later, he hung up. “Your regular driver is running late, so Andrew took the afternoon run to the monastery. He’s probably on his way there as we speak.”