Bad Samaritan (7 page)

As Sister Agatha drew near, Victoria turned, and their eyes met for a moment. Although a trail of tears marked the makeup on her cheeks, Victoria's eyes were dry and clear, not red.

Victoria then turned to accept condolences from an elderly woman. She dabbed her eyes, and Sister Agatha heard Victoria's voice break as she spoke to the woman.

“There's something not quite right there,” Sister Agatha whispered, coming up beside Sister Bernarda.

“I know what you mean,” Sister Bernarda said in a barely audible voice. “Maybe the enormity of what's happened hasn't hit Victoria yet, so she's just doing her best to act the part.”

Sister Agatha looked down at Victoria's plate. On it were lettuce, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and spinach leaves, topped by two big fresh, pungent onion rings. The serving looked untouched, and the woman had no eating utensils, at least none visible.

“Looks like she's getting help producing those tears on command,” Sister Agatha replied, nodding toward the plate.

A murmur went around the gathering as JD Garcia and Al Russo stepped into the living room from an adjoining hall.

“You still want to stick around?” Sister Bernarda whispered.

Before she could answer, Sister Agatha saw Al Russo's gaze fix on Victoria Garcia. Their eyes met for an instant, and Victoria gave him a gentle, knowing smile. For those very brief seconds, Sister Agatha saw awareness shimmering there, and something more . . . perhaps intimacy.

“Now
that
was real—and very interesting,” Sister Agatha said.

I'
D SURE LIKE A CHANCE TO SPEAK TO VICTORIA BEFORE WE
go,” Sister Agatha said.

“Don't look now, but Al Russo's coming over,” Sister Bernarda warned, looking over Sister Agatha's shoulder, then back at her.

A heartbeat later, Sister Agatha felt a hand on her shoulder. “Sister Agatha, under the circumstances, I'm surprised to see you here. JD's been told that you're working to clear the sheriff,” Al Russo said quietly.

“Though he may not realize it, Mayor Garcia and I are on the same side. We all want justice, and that's going to require looking well beyond the surface of things,” Sister Agatha said, walking out to the patio.

Al followed as she stepped outside. “If you're here to question people, you couldn't have picked a worse time,” he added pointedly. “It's in very bad taste.”

“Murder is never in good taste, is it, Mr. Russo? But please don't be concerned. I'll be leaving shortly.” Before he could comment, she added, “Do you mind if I ask you something before I go? You were the first to arrive on the scene, and you called the authorities, right?”

“Yes. It was a big campaign day for Robert, and I noticed his absence almost right away.”

“Think back. Do you remember seeing any transients wandering around the park?”

Al considered it for several long moments, then shook his head. “I didn't notice anyone, but that's not to say they weren't there. I had my attention focused on other things.”

“How did you happen to arrive on the crime scene when you did?” Sister Agatha asked.

“One of our biggest campaign contributors showed up late, just in time for the fireworks. I wanted him and Robert to meet face-to-face, but by then Robert had slipped away. I searched around the park looking for him, but . . . I was too late,” he added, shaking his head.

She was about to press him for more details when she saw Mayor Garcia working his way toward them from across the room. His look made it clear that she was as welcome as bubonic plague.

“If the sheriff's claiming it was self-defense, Sister, he's got a big credibility gap to cover,” Russo continued. “Even with the stick Robert was holding, the sheriff could have easily overpowered him. He could have just sprayed him in the face, for one. I saw the can of Mace, or whatever, on the sheriff's gun belt.” He paused. “If I were you, I'd concentrate on saving souls and let law enforcement officers solve the crimes. Your interference will only complicate matters in this community. Why don't you go home, Sister Agatha?”

“We came to let the family know we'll be praying for them and everyone who's involved in this tragedy, Mr. Russo.”

“That's not the only reason you're here. You came hoping to learn something that might help you get the sheriff off the hook. I'm used to putting spin on just about everything, Sister, so don't try to kid a kidder.”

Glancing past Russo, Sister Agatha saw the mayor pointing her out to another man, probably one of his security staff.

“I don't want to be responsible for unsettling the family, so I'll leave now,” Sister Agatha said.

“Excellent decision,” Russo answered.

Signaling Sister Bernarda, who'd been watching them, she hurried to the door. Less than five minutes later, they were in the Antichrysler heading down the highway.

“I think the mayor would have had you escorted off the property if we'd stayed even two more minutes,” Sister Bernarda said.

“Yeah, I saw what was going on. That's why I figured it was time for us to go.”

“I'm going to stop by Smitty's on our way back,” Sister Bernarda said. “I promised to pick up a few things for Maria Victoria.”

“Please tell me it's not more salsa,” Sister Agatha said with a groan.

Sister Bernarda smiled. “No, we lucked out on that. Maria Victoria wanted us to see if Smitty could be persuaded to donate some fresh green chiles. One of our neighbors brought us a huge roasting chicken, and Sister is making chicken enchiladas tomorrow.”

“Make real sure that they're
mild
chiles, will you?” Sister Agatha asked. “Those last burritos of hers nearly burned through the roof of my mouth.”

“That's because Maria Victoria used green chiles from Mrs. Serna's garden. To the Sernas, that
is
mild.”

“I grew up eating green chiles in this part of the country,” Sister Agatha said, “but if that wasn't hot, I'd sure hate to taste what is. I was sweating, and my eyes were tearing. And did you see poor Reverend Mother's reaction? She took a bite, gasped, and reached for her water—which, of course, is the worst thing she could have done. Crackers or bread puts out the fire; water just spreads it around.”

Sister Bernarda's lips twitched; then she burst out laughing. “The only one who came out okay that day was Sister Ignatius, who'd been feeling under the weather and decided to have Sister Clothilde's chicken soup instead.”

“I really miss Sister Clothilde,” Sister Agatha said quietly. “Despite her vow of silence she was always there for us whenever it mattered most. She has such a loving nature.”

“I miss her, too,” Sister Bernarda admitted. “We're a family, and being separated from any of the other sisters makes everything twice as hard. I think once we're all in the same place things will settle down, and we'll adapt. Agnus Dei will be a good place to live, too. Their monastery is involved in a mail order crafts business called Heavenly Goods. It sound like fun work. They have everything from woodworking to quilting.”

“When it becomes ‘our' monastery instead of ‘their' monastery, that's when we'll know we're really home,” Sister Agatha said gently, wondering if it would ever feel that way to her.

“I need a favor,” Sister Agatha added, as they pulled into the parking lot beside Smitty's Grocery Emporium. “Can you help me get Smitty to myself for a few minutes? He's always busy, but I need to speak to him privately.”

“I'll do my best. What kind of information are you looking for?”

“Smitty knows a transient they call Scout who lives in the bosque,” Sister Agatha explained. “I'm hoping Smitty can suggest a few places where I might find Scout and, more importantly, give me an idea of how to approach without scaring him off. When Chuck and I tried to talk to Scout before, he took off like a jackrabbit.”

“The homeless are often . . . damaged people. If he doesn't want to talk to you, you can't really force it,” Sister Bernarda said.

“Still, I have to find a way. There's no telling what he saw the day of the murder. Finding a witness may be the only way we have of clearing the sheriff.”

“Even if Scout told you precisely what you wanted to hear, you'd still have to find someone who could corroborate his story,” Sister Bernarda said. “A person like that is rarely a credible witness. If you can't even get him to talk to you, imagine how he'd be with the police or on a witness stand.”

“You're right,” Sister Agatha admitted grudgingly. “Still, even if no one else believes him, it's possible he'll be able to give me a lead I can follow. At the moment, he's the only shot I've got. The Garcias certainly don't want to cooperate. In fact, they've made it clear they'll do all they can to get in my way.”

As Sister Bernarda turned off the engine, the Antichrysler backfired loudly. An elderly man carrying groceries to his car nearly dropped his bag. Apologizing as they climbed out of the car, Sister Agatha and Sister Bernarda made sure he was all right, then entered the large grocery store.

Smitty's office was in the back, and, walking down the first aisle, they headed directly there. Sister Agatha knocked on Smitty's open door.

Smitty, a tall, slender, bald-headed man in his early sixties, looked up from his computer and smiled broadly. “I've never
been so happy to get an interruption!” he said. “My bookkeeper's on vacation, and I'm trying to keep our accounts updated. Unfortunately, I can't understand her instructions.” He gestured toward a spiral notebook with a long list of commands and keystrokes. “Bring back the adding machines, please!”

“I wish I could help,” Sister Agatha said.

Smitty regarded her for several seconds, his kind blue eyes narrowing. “Ah, but you're the one who needs help. I recognize that look on your face. What's up?”

“While you two are busy talking, do you mind if I pick up a few things, Smitty?” Sister Bernarda asked him. “Like some green chiles?”

“Go ahead, Sister Bernarda,” he answered. “Just give me a list so I can enter it in the books.”

“Thanks,” she said and left, closing the door behind her to give them the privacy Sister Agatha had asked for.

“Okay, 'fess up, Sister. What's on your mind? Something to do with Sheriff Green's situation, right?” Smitty asked, scooting his chair closer.

Sister Agatha laughed. “I didn't think I was that easy to read, but you nailed it.” As she told him about Scout and the possibility that he'd witnessed something, she saw Smitty's expression change.

“I know who you're talking about, Sister, but I have no idea how you're going to track him down. He's a very troubled man—and with reason.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“His name's Daniel Perea, and he used to live a normal life in this community. The family owned a video rental store and seemed to make a decent living. That was about ten years ago, if my memory's correct.”

“What could happen to a man to turn his life so upside down?”

“You mean how did he become Scout?” Seeing her nod, he continued. “Daniel always had a problem with alcohol. One evening he was behind the wheel and got into an accident. His wife and two kids were in the car with him, and they were all killed. Daniel was drunk at the time and somehow managed to survive it all without a scratch,” Smitty added.

He shook his head slowly. “After that, Daniel fell apart. He drowned himself in a bottle, lost his business, then his home. Eventually, he ended up on the street and disappeared for a few years. He came back last March, still a transient. He lives in the bosque and roams the backstreets, mostly in the early mornings and evenings. He survives thanks to some of us who make sure he gets something to eat.” After a long pause, he added, “Daniel—the man he used to be—is long gone. I don't think he even recognizes his name anymore. I've never seen him with a bottle, so I think his demons have conspired to take away his memories. Scout's all that remains.”

“Have you ever tried talking to him one-on-one? If he knew you once . . .”

“I know what you're thinking, that maybe I could reach him. Unfortunately, I've already tried—and failed. I know he usually comes around late to pick up sandwiches and whatever else I leave out on the windowsill for him,” Smitty said. “That's why I decided to hang around one night. I figured he and I would talk, but the second he saw me, he bolted. Then I tried leaving him a note and a pencil and pad, asking him to write me back. I got nowhere with that either.”

“I'm really sorry to hear it,” Sister Agatha said, wishing for everyone's sake that things could have been different.

“One morning I came around the corner and saw him up close,” Smitty said in a hushed tone. “His gaze was completely blank, Sister Agatha. Daniel's not home anymore. All that's
left is madness, coupled with the survival instincts of a wild animal.”

“Would you mind if I hung around here some night and waited for him to show up?” she asked him.

He considered it, then answered her. “I'd rather you didn't. Once he spots you, he may be too afraid to stop by and get his food. Then he'll go hungry, and I'd hate to see that happen.”

“Maybe I can back him into a corner—”

“
Bad
idea,” Smitty said resolutely. “Like a wild animal, he might panic and strike out. Is talking to him really that important to you?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Then give me a chance to think about this some more. I'd hate to scare him off for good. He needs to eat, Sister, and I'm in a position to help him with that.” He paused for a long moment, a faraway look on his face. “When I was growing up in the south valley, we were dirt poor. Six of us lived in a rented two-bedroom mobile home. If it wasn't for food stamps, we would have starved. When I see someone like Scout, I can't turn away. I still remember what it was like to try to sleep when your stomach's so empty it hurts.”