Bad Samaritan (15 page)

“Off the hook implies deception and dishonesty. That's not what this is all about. I'm after the truth. That's all.”

He shook his head. “What you're trying to do is uncover a truth that doesn't exist,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. “The evidence speaks for itself. There's no reason to question the sheriff's guilt.”

“If he's guilty, as you believe, my investigation will only seal the case against him. If he's innocent, then it'll help the police catch the real killer. What harm could there be in that?”

“In the process of investigating a straightforward case, you may also end up uncovering things no one wants brought to light.” He gazed at her consideringly for several moments. “The Garcias are a powerful family, Sister, and powerful families usually have more than their share of secrets—ones they'll do just about anything to protect. You may not be afraid of them, but if you keep pushing this, you'll find that people in this town are—and with good reason. Your little investigation may end up doing far more harm than good.”

His message was clear. She'd have to be very careful who she was seen talking to from now on. She could end up placing other people—anyone who tried to help her—in the line of fire.

“Are you afraid that my coming here will place
you
in jeopardy?” she asked.

“I can take care of myself, Sister, and the Garcias know I'm loyal to them.”

“Do you feel secure enough to answer a few of my questions?”

“Of course. Shoot.”

That had been too easy . . . maybe he intended to ask her for something in return. She focused on the matter at hand. A partial win was better than no win at all. “Did Robert make enemies while he worked here, or did the firm?”

“Robert and I sued a couple of deadbeat clients,” he said with a shrug, “but no one's tried to murder
me
over that, so I think you're on the wrong track.”

“Think harder. Robert must have made enemies. It's the price of being a successful businessman,” she pressed.

“Let me tell you how things work around here. People who've experienced thefts or security issues, or think they run that risk, contact us. We come in, identify potential problems, and safeguard them against any future trouble. We don't accuse or arrest anyone.”

“Everyone liked Robert and no one had any reason to wish him harm, is that what you're telling me?” Sister Agatha said with a clear touch of sarcasm.

“No, not quite. People just find it more profitable to be friends with the Garcias.”

“So Robert had the best friends money can buy. Do you include yourself in that?”

“Don't expect a reaction from me,” he said, laughing. “At this stage in my career, I rarely fall for amateur interrogation tactics.”

“Try one honest answer, then, and it'll stay between us. Are you afraid of the Garcias?”

“No, I'm not, but I'll tell you this—it's a lot smarter to stay on their good side. If you went to them and offered to drop the investigation, I'm almost certain that you'd see a lot of the
monastery's current problems disappear. They take good care of their friends.”

“What problems are you talking about?” Sister Agatha asked, wondering how much he knew.

“I know the monastery will be closing its doors for good soon.”

She stared at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

He smiled slowly. “Luz del Cielo Winery has offered JD Garcia a limited partnership if he'll finance the monastery's conversion to a modern bed-and-breakfast.”

There was a knock at the door, and his secretary came in. Moving quickly, she placed some papers in front of him.

He glanced down and wrote some notes on the margins.

As Sister Agatha glanced at his handwriting, she suddenly realized he'd written the note that had been left for them in the Antichrysler. Knowing that her observation didn't constitute proof, she decided not to pursue that for now.

Once his assistant left, closing the door behind her, Sister Agatha answered him. “Robert deserves to have his real killer brought to justice. Maybe that'll be worth something to the Garcias someday.”

“That'll all depend on how much harm you do between now and then.”

“Help me minimize that. Tell me who Robert's enemies were,” she insisted.

“Anyone who is anyone has enemies, Sister. That's a fact of life. Even so, most people know power when they see it, and respect that. The attack on Robert was made by someone who didn't care that Robert was a Garcia—that tends to indicate a personal stake. Maybe it was someone who wanted to see him out of the way, like his political rival.”

They'd gone full circle now. She stood, then asked one final question. “Had Robert won the race for sheriff, what would have happened to this company?”

“I would have run day-to-day operations, and Robert's share of the profits would have been placed in trust until he was no longer in public office.” Monty squared his shoulders as he rose and faced her. “I've done my best to help you today, Sister. Now I'd like you to return the favor.”

She'd been expecting this. “What do you need from me?”

“Talk to Green. Convince him to withdraw from the race. He'll be facing trial sooner or later, and our community needs a sheriff who doesn't have a cloud like that hanging over his head.”

“That'll mean you'll run unopposed,” she observed.

“Probably, but I can do a good job for this county. I've also got the backing of the Garcias. They've even encouraged me to use the promotional baseball caps that Robert gave to his supporters.”

Sister Agatha glanced behind him and saw another of the red caps on top of the filing cabinet. “TFC, Time for Change. That was his slogan, right?”

“Would you care for one?” he asked, only half joking.

“I don't think it'll go with my habit,” she answered with a thin smile.

“Your choice,” he answered, then held the door open for her. “Do we have an agreement? Will you speak to the sheriff?”

“I'll pass your message along to him. That's the best I can do.”

“Good enough. If he has half the integrity you think he does, Green'll understand that this county deserves more than what he can offer under the present circumstances.”

As Sister Agatha walked out with Pax, she mulled over what she'd learned. She hadn't received the answers she'd hoped to get, but Allen had certainly opened new avenues for her to consider.

Twenty minutes later, as she drove through the monastery's gates, Sister Agatha saw Sister Bernarda gathering flowers. This time of year, fresh bouquets were always placed on each grave inside the monastery's cemetery. Her chest tightened as she realized once again how much they'd be leaving behind.

“The roses are doing exceptionally well this year because of the rains,” Sister Bernarda said when Sister Agatha joined her.

Sister Agatha didn't reply as she helped place flowers by each headstone.

“Is everything all right?” Sister Bernarda asked, once they were on their way back to the parlor.

Sister Agatha shook her head. “Every time I think I've found a promising lead, it fizzles out on me. Instead of getting answers, I just keep finding more questions. All things considered, I'm not sure I've made any progress at all lately.”

“Maybe you should focus on today's Divine Office,” Sister Bernarda said, referring to the readings and prayers that centered their day. “One in particular, actually, from James. ‘Patience hath a perfect work,' ” she quoted.

Sister Agatha sighed. “I know that patience is a virtue, Sister, but I've got to hurry—”

“That's vanity speaking, Sister Agatha,” Sister Bernarda said in a quiet and resolute voice. “
You
don't have to do anything except get out of God's way and let Him do the work. Remember this morning's reading from Philippians? That's one of my all-time favorite quotes—‘For it is God who worketh in you, both to will and to accomplish, according to His good will.' ” She paused. “So stop telling God how you think things should work out and
quit making demands. Open your heart and listen to Him first, then act.”

The simple truth behind Sister Bernarda's advice touched her heart. “You're so right, Sister.”

Before she could say more, the Maria bell announced Vespers.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING, AFTER THE END OF THE
Great Silence, Sister Agatha went directly to the parlor. With Sister de Lourdes already in Denver and Sister Jo, who'd only had a brief stay at Our Lady, transferred to a teaching order in Albuquerque, Sister Bernarda hadn't had a break from her portress duties in days. She hadn't even been able to go for private prayer in the chapel.

This morning Sister Agatha had agreed to take over for a half hour so Sister Bernarda could spend quiet time in adoration. It was in those moments that the soul affirmed its total dependence on God. Now, in the midst of all the troubles they were facing, times of contemplation in chapel had become a necessary lifeline.

The phone rang shortly after eight thirty, and Sister Agatha picked it up. She recognized the caller's voice even before he identified himself.

“Sister Agatha, you and I need to talk. This is Frank Marquez.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked quickly.

“You tell me. We had an agreement. You were going to pass on whatever you uncovered, but even though you've been working the case for two days now, I haven't heard a word. I hope you don't expect me to believe that you've uncovered absolutely nothing.”

“If I'd found out something definite, I would have called you, Frank. All I've really got at this point is gut feelings based on rumors.”

“Rumors can sometimes lead to facts, and gut feelings to suspects. How about meeting me at the Java Shack, the coffee shop across from the station, at around ten thirty?”

She'd heard of the place, of course. It was supposed to sell some very upscale coffee. Young professionals and upper-class business owners flocked to it. It surprised her that Marquez had suggested the place. Almost all the officers she knew preferred coffee that didn't require an entire hour's wages.

“Don't worry, I'm buying,” he said.

“I'll be there,” she answered cheerfully.

Sister Agatha placed the phone down and had just started dusting the parlor's desk when she heard the sounds of happy barking outside. Standing by the window, she saw Pax making the most of the cool morning temperatures. Two quails with their question-mark bonnets were walking along the top of the wall while Pax lunged and jumped, trying in vain to reach them. Animals and children . . . even the simplest things could renew their zest for life.

As her thoughts wandered, she thought of Robert's son, RJ. Sister Agatha wondered how Robert's death would affect the boy over time. Would he draw closer to his mother, or not? Now that Robert's cruelty was no longer a part of their lives, would RJ and
Victoria drift apart? Without a common threat, the need to band together was no longer there—at least not to the same extent—and the boy seemed primed to rebel already.

By the time Sister Bernarda came into the parlor, Sister Agatha had made up her mind to go speak to Victoria. Regardless of what Crystal, the housekeeper, had said, an abused wife always had a strong motive for wanting to ease her suffering—one way or the other.

“I'm ready to take over, Your Charity,” Sister Bernarda said. “Thanks for taking care of things here so I could have time in chapel.”

“Anytime, Sister—and I mean that.”

Sister Agatha and Pax left the monastery five minutes later. Unsure whether Victoria was still staying at her brother-in-law's house, she passed by Victoria's home first, since it was on her way.

Seeing a car there, Sister Agatha drove up the long driveway and parked. A few moments later she and Pax, on a short lead, passed through the turquoise blue gate leading into the walled courtyard, then walked up to the heavy carved door. Pax remained at heel, seated on the flagstone step as she rang the doorbell.

As she waited, Sister Agatha studied her surroundings. This wasn't a particularly large house, but it was well appointed—a modern frame-and-stucco version of the classic Southwest adobe home. The private courtyard was filled with colorful desert shrubs and indigenous flowers that flourished in the dry climate. Carefully positioned sandstone boulders accented the enclosure. The effect was cool and soothing.

When there was no answer, Sister Agatha rang the bell again. A minute later, she heard running footsteps, and the door was opened.

“Sister Agatha, I'm surprised to see you!” Victoria said, still catching her breath. “I was expecting the parcel express man.”

Sister Agatha wasn't sure how to respond. Did that mean that she wouldn't have answered had she known?

“Come in,” she said, waving her inside. “The dog, too.” She walked to the doorway leading to the den, then stopped and glanced back at Sister Agatha. “Since you're here, how about giving me a hand in RJ's room? My housekeeper's running an errand, and I could sure use an extra pair of hands. I'm trying to hang up a poster I know RJ will just love. It's a surprise for when he gets back from day camp.”

“I'd be happy to help.”

Sister Agatha followed her down the hall, and soon they entered what could only be described as a little boy's dream room. From floor to ceiling, it was filled with everything baseball. There were posters of Major League players on every wall, autographed team photos, a full-sized cardboard cutout of an apparently famous player swinging a bat, and half a dozen pennants of the local minor league team, the Albuquerque Isotopes. There was even a huge teddy bear on the shelf, dressed up in a pin-striped baseball uniform and cap. A new-looking baseball glove sat beside it, along with an autographed ball inside a plastic case. In the opposite corner stood a wooden bat that had to have been at least as tall as Robert Jr. Beside that was a well-used plastic bat and ball, more suitable for a child just learning the fundamentals.