Prey for a Miracle (17 page)

Natalie turned and glanced at Sister Agatha. “He says that you shouldn’t worry if you can’t see him,” she said, then gave her a sad smile. “Someday I won’t be able to see angels either. When I get older, they’ll fade away.”

“The loss of innocence,” Sister Ignatius whispered.

Sister Agatha nodded slowly. Innocence, like childhood, was a path traveled only once.

“He’s leaving now but he wants me to tell you that although the monastery will face great dangers he, and others like him, will always be here to protect the sisters from harm.”

“Does he have a name?” Sister Agatha asked, still searching for proof.

“Tah—Tazuriel,” she answered.

Sister Ignatius crossed herself.
“Deo gratias,”
she whispered.

Instinct told Sister Agatha to pray, but the words got jumbled in her head. Suddenly remembering an old story, she began whispering the letters of the alphabet.

“He’s gone,” Natalie said softly.

Sister Ignatius looked at Sister Agatha, a bewildered expression on her face. “Were you whispering the alphabet, Your Charity?”

She nodded and gave her a hesitant smile. “There’s an old story about a man who always received what he asked for from God, though he’d never memorized any formal prayers. Others came to find out how he appealed to God, and he told them that he simply recited the alphabet and let God put the letters in the right order.” She smiled. “I did the same, and added ‘Amen’ after the
Z
. Not exactly brilliant, but I think God understood.”

I
T WAS THREE THIRTY IN THE AFTERNOON, THE TIME FOR
manual labor, when Sister Agatha went to Reverend Mother’s office. Unable to disturb the abbess earlier, who’d been on the phone with some supporters of the monastery most of the morning, her report of the incident with Natalie and the angel had been put on hold until now.

The abbess listened to Sister Agatha in silence. “And your impression?”

“I looked up the name Natalie gave us. I believe she meant Tzuriel. It comes from the Hebrew and means ‘God is my rock.’ There’s no angel by that name, but there’s an archangel by the name of Uriel. She could have simply added a ‘t’ sound to it and, pardon the pun, winged it.”

“So you’re not convinced.”

“Mother, I believe that Natalie’s been given a gift to foretell certain events. But the rest…I just don’t know. She believes in the angels she sees, that much I do know. But they may be her way of coping with her ability and making sense of it all.”

Reverend Mother gave her a long, calm look. “The church officially says that we’re free to believe her or not and I’ve chosen to believe Natalie. Her words bring me comfort and I see no harm in them.” The abbess stood in front of the statue of the Blessed Mother, lost in thought. “But what we need right now is closure to the events that brought Natalie here. Help the police find answers, child. Natalie has brought us a blessing, but she belongs on the outside, not in this monastery.”

“I’ll keep trying, Mother.”

Sister Agatha walked back to the parlor. Her past as a journalist had placed a heavy burden on her shoulders. The monastery counted on her far more than it did the other externs when it came to resolving problems like these. Now fear of failure dogged her footsteps.

Moments later, Sister Bernarda listened to her as Sister Agatha explained that she might need to be away for longer periods of time.

“Why are you so troubled? You have a talent for this kind of work,” Sister Bernarda responded. The hammering had moved to another part of the building and they could speak at normal levels.

“What if I can’t find the answers? A child’s life is in our hands.”

“Her life is in God’s hands. It was never in ours.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Sister Agatha said after a pause. “Pray that I’ll always remember that we
serve,
we don’t command—not even the situation,” she added with a grateful smile.

Sister Agatha rode back to the sheriff’s department with Pax. Tom would be her best source. Once she arrived at the station, she went directly to his office. “Come in,” he said, glancing up.

Sister Agatha filled him in on what she’d learned from Cathy. “I want to talk to this friend of Jessica’s that Cathy mentioned, but who the heck makes goat cheese around here? Do you know?”

“No, not off the bat,” he said, “but I know someone who might. Maria Fuentes. Do you know her?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“She’s a very competent defense attorney. She takes quite a few pro bono cases, and I’ve dealt with her several times. She opened a new office a few months ago and invited me to stop by—kind of an open house deal. While I was there, she offered me some crackers and goat cheese and said that it was locally made. The stuff wasn’t half bad.”

“I better go speak with her then. Where’s her office?”

“Just around the corner, two doors down.”

Sister Agatha called Pax and they walked to an office building less than a hundred yards from the station. The newly lettered shingle on the door read, “Maria Fuentes, Attorney at Law.”

Seeing that the door was partly open, Sister Agatha stepped inside, Pax with her. There was no receptionist, but a short, middle-aged woman came out from the back office to greet her.

“Sister Agatha?”

She nodded. “You’re Maria Fuentes?”

“That’s me. The sheriff just called to say you were coming.” Maria smiled at Pax and invited Sister Agatha to take a seat. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to know where you bought the goat cheese you served at your open house,” she said.

Maria smiled. “I get it from an elderly woman who lives on the eastern side of town. There’s a lot of nonsense gossip claiming she’s a witch—or crazy—but she’s neither. Her name is Elena Serna.”

Sister Agatha smiled and nodded. “I’ve met the woman, and you’re right. She’s a decent lady.”

“Her goat cheese is the best I’ve ever tasted—actually, it’s the only goat cheese I’ve ever tasted. Jessica Tannen brought some to my office in that huge purse of hers once. I smelled something odd, said something, and out came a plastic container of cheese and another of crackers.” Maria laughed. “Elena needs some business, so Jessica was helping her by carrying samples to give out at lunch. Of course that purse of hers is huge and has pockets for everything, so it was perfect. When I teased her, saying that she could hide just about anything in that small suitcase she called a purse, she laughed and said that when it came to hiding places she was an old-fashioned girl. She said she believed in vaults—like Capone.”

“I didn’t know she had a vault.”

“I think she was joking, Sister. I mean I assumed she was.”

“Are you and Jessica close friends?”

“I handled a few legal matters for her and we have a good professional relationship, but that’s it. I think she’s pretty close to Elena Serna, though.”

“That’s such an unlikely duo. How did they ever meet, over the goat cheese?”

“Yeah, I think so. When Jessica found out how people shunned Elena, she befriended her almost immediately and became her best customer and advertising rep. Jessica’s always on the side of the underdog.”

“Although I didn’t know about Elena’s cheese, I do know the woman. She allows people to think she’s a witch because, in a way, it protects her.”

“An elderly woman who lives alone needs any edge she can get,” Maria agreed with a nod.

Five minutes later, with Pax in the sidecar, Sister Agatha headed out, driving east across the railroad tracks, through a wash, and into the countryside. Elena Serna’s low adobe home was visible beside a small spring that spilled out from among several big boulders. A dozen goats grazed on small tufts of grass in a low spot beside the road.

A curtain next to the living room window moved as Sister Agatha pulled up in front of the house, letting her know that the elusive Elena had seen her arrive.

Elena opened the door just as they stepped up onto the porch. “Hello, Sister Agatha. I was wondering how long it would be before your latest investigation led you here.”

Sister Agatha went inside and sat down on the well-worn couch. There were candles everywhere and cryptic symbols painted onto the concrete floor. But she’d learned a long time ago that Elena had only put them there for dramatic effect—psychological decoration.

“How’s Natalie?” Elena asked her.

“I’ve been told she’s well,” Sister Agatha said casually.

Elena smiled. “Sister, I’d be willing to bet my last goat that she’s staying with you at the monastery. But you don’t have to comment. I know Natalie and figured she’d end with the sisters because it was the safest place to hide her. I heard that there’s a tabloid reporter named Springer looking for Natalie, so stay on your guard. Has anyone been lurking around the monastery?”

“Not that we know of.” Unless that was the guy who’d disguised himself as a nun. Deciding not to mention that, Sister Agatha waited, letting the silence between them stretch.

“I know why you’re here,” Elena said at last. “But I don’t have the answers you need. I don’t know who ran Jessica off the road. What I can tell you is that Jessica was terrified that Natalie had become a target for loonies. All Jess really wanted was a normal life for her kid. I tried to explain to her that being different can have its advantages, too, but I don’t think she really understood me.”

“You made it work for
you,
”
Sister Agatha said, nodding.

“Exactly. Boys used to come by and throw things at my goats, or ruin my garden with their pickups. The sheriff back then wasn’t much help, so I came up with a way to help myself. I drew a big star on the side of my house and stained the biggest rocks outside with red paint thinned out with water. It looked like blood and worked like a charm. When the kids saw those, they started getting worried about the crazy old woman who lived here. The rumors about me started, and eventually people left me in peace.”

“But it must be hard to be so alone,” Sister said.

“I have friends. My goat cheese has become popular in recent years with all the growing interest in natural foods. Jessica and Natalie love my southwestern flavored one. That’s how Jessica and I got to be friends.”

“It sounds like you two had a lot in common.”

“Living alone can make you vulnerable and I know what that’s like. But I’ve never been in the type of mess Jessica was in,” she said, leaning forward in her chair and looking directly at Sister Agatha. “Someone was trying to frame Jessica for something, and she was terrified that she’d end up in jail unless she could get evidence to substantiate her innocence. Once she got that she was planning to leave town with her daughter and go someplace where she and Natalie could start fresh.”

“Framed for what?” Sister Agatha asked, thinking of Joseph Carlisle and her conversation with Cathy.

“I honestly don’t know. I asked Jessica, but she was very close-mouthed about it. She said she wasn’t going to put anyone else in danger. I assured her I could take care of myself but she told me she could handle herself, too, and that I shouldn’t worry. She said she was a great believer in insurance and that she’d be getting all she needed soon.”

“What insurance—I mean, against what?” When Elena shrugged, Sister Agatha gave her a long, thoughtful look, then added, “You haven’t told the sheriff about this?”

“No, I knew you’d be coming by soon, so I wasn’t worried.”

This put a whole new light on the investigation. Father Ma-honey had not been told the real reason for Jessica’s planned departure, apparently. Sister Agatha considered calling Tom immediately, but after reaching for her cell phone, she put it back into her pocket. “I’ll go see the sheriff right now and tell him about this in person.”

“I wouldn’t leave without a plan, if I were you,” Elena said, calling Sister Agatha’s attention to a glimmer of reflected light playing on the far wall. Elena went to the window, peered outside, then glanced back at Sister Agatha. “There’s someone parked at the end of my road, watching the house.”

“Who?”

“Let me take a closer look.” Elena pulled a pair of binoculars out of a drawer and began to zero in, adjusting the focus wheel with a scrawny finger.

Sister Agatha laughed softly. Those were good binoculars, not the toy store kind.

“I could tell you that I’m a bird watcher, but that would be a tall pile of manure.” Elena turned her head and smiled. “I’m snoopy—so there. What else is there to do? My closest neighbor is a quarter mile away, so these have to be quality.”

Sister Agatha bit her lip and tried valiantly to keep from cracking a smile. “What’s the driver doing?”

“Sitting in a white Ford Escort, watching us. And he has his own binoculars.” She turned around and handed her pair to Sister Agatha. “Here, take a look. The focus is in the center.”

Sister Agatha stood by the side of the window, trying to hold the heavy instrument steady enough to get a good look at the man. “I don’t think he’s got binoculars. It looks more like a camera with a telephoto lens,” she said, then added quickly, “Uh-oh, I think he just spotted me looking at him.”

A few seconds later, they heard the sound of an engine revving up. “I want to get his license number,” Sister Agatha said, running to the door. “Call the sheriff and let him know what I’m doing.”

Sister Agatha raced out to the motorcycle, Pax at her side. She had to know if the man was really a reporter—which seemed likely because of the camera—or one of the gang members searching for Henry Tannen. Chuck Moody’s warning was still fresh in her mind, though she couldn’t imagine some image-conscious gangbanger in a white Ford Escort. Either way, she would not be used by anyone— crook or reporter—who wanted to harm another human being.

Sister Agatha climbed onto the Harley as Pax leaped into the sidecar. In a heartbeat she shot after the fleeing car, going through the cloud of dust the other driver had left in his wake.

By the time they reached a paved road, the fleeing car had increased its lead. Sister called Tom, pushing the phone beneath her helmet and giving him the location and direction of the chase, along with the license number and a description of the car.

“I’ll handle this. Back off,” he ordered.

“I’ll just keep him in sight until you show up!” She disconnected the call before he could argue with her.

Sister Agatha stayed behind the Escort, maintaining pace. She didn’t want to catch up to him—that was Tom’s job. But she’d make sure that Tom would be able to find the car and driver. Moments later, the car entered Pueblo land and headed north to the giant parking lot around the casino.

Forced to slow nearly to a halt for a truck loaded with bales of alfalfa, Sister Agatha lost sight of the white Ford for several seconds. By the time she turned into the parking area, the Ford was gone. She began driving up and down rows of parked vehicles, surprised at how many small white cars there were. After several minutes she found the car again and passed by close enough to see it was unoccupied.

Once again she called Tom and updated him. “It’s got a rental sticker on the back bumper,” she said.

“And he was on Elena Serna’s property?”

“Inside the fence line, yeah, so you can get him for trespassing. Her property is posted.”

“Okay, hang tight. I’ll need to work out the jurisdictional protocol because the vehicle is on Pueblo land now, but I’m on my way.”

“Good. I’m staying right here. He’s either ducked into the casino or is hiding out in the parking lot. Sooner or later, though, he’ll have to return.”

Less than ten minutes later, Tom caught up to her. A tribal policeman was with him.

“Where did he go?” the patrolman asked her.