The Prodigal Nun (13 page)

“What you’re telling me is that Gerry’s hard to know and it works against him?”

Josh nodded. “My judgment as a retired cop—and a father to six children.”

Thanking him, Sister Agatha went back to the Harley. It was a beautiful afternoon and the perfect time to pay Betty Malone a visit. Ever since she’d spoken to Dolly, she’d been meaning to drop by Betty’s home.

Sister Agatha took a side road and arrived at Betty’s a short time later. Apparently having heard the motorcycle coming up the street, Betty had come out to meet her.

“You’ve got perfect timing, Sister. I just made some cheesecake, my favorite comfort food,” she added with a laugh.

Sitting in the kitchen moments later, Sister Agatha tasted Betty’s cheesecake and smiled. “This
is
wonderful!”

“Over the years, I’ve added a few things here and there. I’m glad you like it.”

Sister Agatha ate slowly, relishing every bite. Drenched in a semisweet sauce with cherries, it was truly decadent.

“So what brings you here?” Betty asked casually, taking small bites from a slice of plain cheesecake she’d cut for herself.

“I wanted to ask you a few questions about the Sanchezes, but first I would ask that our conversation stay between us. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure. I’m an old hand at keeping things to myself. Never cared much for gossip, you know.”

“Neither do I, but right now I really need information, and you’re the best person I could think to ask.”

“Is this about Louis and Christy?” she asked with a long, heavy sigh.

“That, and other things. From your kitchen window you have quite a view of both Christy’s and Louis’s yards. What can you tell me about their relationship? Was there really more going on between them, as people keep hinting?”

Betty hesitated. “I understand why you’re asking, and I’ll help you, but from what I know about those two, the gossip is way off the mark. Mind you, I’ve seen plenty of signs that Christy might have a thing for Louis, but Louis would have never stepped out on Jane. Louis’s primary interest is
food
, not women. What got people talking is that Christy’s a lonely woman.”

“So you haven’t seen anything that might suggest there was something going on between her and Louis?” Sister Agatha asked quietly. “Or that it’s possible that Christy killed Jane—her competition?”

“No way,” she answered firmly. “That wouldn’t have gotten her anywhere, and she knew it. Jane and Louis loved each other, despite their differences.”

Sister Agatha nodded, understanding far more than Betty’s words had revealed. This was a quiet neighborhood, one where neighbors often stood together on issues. Despite the occasional disagreements, violence didn’t play a part in their lives.

“What do you know about Jane and her son-in-law? Did those two really hate each other that much?”

Betty nodded. “That part of the gossip is true. Jane would have done anything to break them up. The entire neighborhood knew that. It was one of the reasons Evelyn finally stopped coming by to see her parents. She hadn’t been by for at least a couple of months. Evelyn adores her father and really wanted him to get to know his granddaughter. With Jane gone, maybe what’s left of Louis’s family will get back together. It’s just very sad that this had to happen first.”

“We’ve been praying for all of them, and will continue to do so,” Sister Agatha said. “Thanks very much for your help, Betty. This
will
stay between us, don’t worry about that.” With a sheepish smile, Sister Agatha used her fingers to pick up a few crumbs of cheesecake still on her plate. “And thanks so much for sharing this wonderful dessert,” she said, licking what was left off her fingertips.

Betty smiled. “Would you like another slice for the road?”

Sister Agatha shook her head and smiled. “Thanks, but no. I’m full, so another slice would definitely come under the header ‘gluttony.’”

“I’m sure God will look the other way just this once,” Betty said with a twinkle in her eye. “You could also look at it as an act of charity. This old woman would love to know that her cheesecake’s all but irresistible.”

“In that case, who am I to disappoint?”

Betty placed a slice in a small plastic container, poured a
generous portion of cherry sauce over it, then sealed the lid tightly. “There you go.”

Sister Agatha placed the container on the floor of the sidecar, anchoring it inside the coils of the irrigation hose. Pax looked at it longingly, then at her.

“Nothing doing, guy. That piece is for Reverend Mother. If there’s anyone who deserves a treat, it’s her. She’s had it rough these past few days.”

Sister Agatha and Pax were on the way back to the monastery minutes later. As she drove, she mentally reviewed everything she’d learned, trying to sort out the relevant and factual from the rest.

Glancing into the side mirror as she changed lanes, she noticed an old white van coming up quickly behind her. She pulled slightly to the right and cut back on the throttle, motioning with her left hand for the vehicle to pass her. Instead of passing, however, the van inched even closer.

Sister Agatha speeded up, trying to keep a safe distance between them, and took a good, hard look in the rearview mirror. The road vibration made it hard to see the driver’s face, who was sitting well back in his seat and wearing a hat and sunglasses.

Again she motioned the driver to pass, slowing and pulling way over to the right, nearly on the shoulder. This time he got the message and accelerated quickly, rocketing past her.

Then, without any warning, the van swerved into her lane.

“Look out!” she yelled.

Sister Agatha touched the brakes and pulled to the right as hard as she could without risking going head over heels. As they hit the soft ground near the ditch, the wheel of the sidecar holding Pax dug in and the bike pulled hard to the right. For a second she thought they were going to roll, but the rear end stayed put.

“Down!” she yelled to Pax, hoping he’d hear her and duck into the cockpit of the sidecar.

Fighting to remain in control of the Harley, Sister Agatha forced the handlebars back to the left, holding on with a death grip, more worried about hitting something than being able to stop. The soft ground slowed the bike quickly, but it was shaking and vibrating like a leaf in a windstorm.

Gritting her teeth, she held on, tapping the rear brake as much as she dared. The big Harley trembled and bounced as they barreled through knee-high grass and weeds.

Finally, in a thick cloud of dust, they slid to a stop just a few feet from the wire fence that lined the roadway. Looking toward the highway, she could see the rear end of the van that had forced them off the road racing away, picking up speed. It had a sign on the rear doors, but at this distance she couldn’t make out the lettering.

Whispering a prayer of heartfelt thanks that neither she nor Pax had been injured, she sat back on the saddle, taking deep breaths and trying to stop shaking. Pax was still flat on his stomach, but his head was turned toward her, and he was panting from excitement.

“I’ve got to report this driver to the sheriff right now, boy,” she said to Pax, turning off the engine.

As she reached up with trembling hands to remove her helmet—a cell phone call was impossible when the helmet covered her ears—she looked down the road and saw that the van had turned around and was racing back once again in their direction.

“He’s coming back. Lord, help us!”

She switched on the ignition and turned toward the road, her thoughts racing. If he was planning to sideswipe them, her best counter was to throw off his timing. Heart hammering, she
waited, planning on sitting still, then accelerating forward, back toward the fence, at the last possible second.

As the van reached the center line, she revved up the engine, the bike now in gear.

Sister Agatha concentrated on watching the van’s front tires. The second they turned, she’d cut loose. But the van held its position.

She glanced back up at the driver’s face, hoping to get a good look at him, and suddenly realized that he was holding something big in his hand. A head…she could make out a face…and hair…Before she could complete the thought that was forming in her mind, he hurled it in her direction.

Sister Agatha ducked and prayed that the helmet would do its job and protect her from—whatever it was. A heartbeat later, something splattered against her visor, and she felt something warm and wet strike the back of her hand. The noxious smell nearly made her gag. She prayed that it hadn’t been brains escaping from a decaying, severed human head.

H
ER BREATH CAUGHT IN HER THROAT AS SHE SAW THE
goo that was running down her visor, but at least it wasn’t blood or brains.

Forcing herself to swallow the panic that was making it hard for her to think straight, she looked around. That scent…she recognized it. It was overripe fruit. Then she saw the mess on the road ahead. The impact point held an overripe melon and what appeared to be a wig and a Halloween mask of a man’s face. Seeds, rind, and rotten pulp had splattered everywhere, including on the Harley and herself.

The idiot in the van had set her up, placed a face mask over a rotten melon, then attached a wig to the top. With just a split second for her to see what was coming, he’d obviously hoped to scare her to death—and he’d almost succeeded.

The smell was getting worse. Pieces of overripe fruit had splattered her from head to foot, much of it sticking to her
habit. Turning off the engine, she dismounted and brushed away the larger bits and pieces. In the process, some of the gooey slime smeared into the fabric, leaving a gleaming film. “Oh, yuck!”

Watching for traffic, she stepped out onto the road and picked up the wig. It was black and stringy—not counting the sliver of melon rind still attached by glue—and looked to her like the ones sold everywhere at Halloween. There wasn’t much hope of getting anything useful from it, but she still brought it back to the sidecar and dropped it inside. It was evidence. She also picked up the mask, the latex image of an ugly man, holding it by the elastic strap.

Pax, who’d escaped being slimed, was still lying down. He sniffed at the wig and mask, snorted, then looked up at her.

“Yeah, I know, they stink major league,” she said. “You can sit now, boy,” she added. “Just don’t mess with these goodies. They’re for the sheriff.”

After cleaning herself off as much as she could, finishing with her hands, she reached for the cell phone and got the sheriff on his private line seconds later. “I was just run off the road, Tom,” she said. She gave him the highlights of the incident.

“I have a deputy heading north out of town. If the van’s still in the area, he may be able to find it using the description you just gave me. In the meantime, drive back to Bernalillo, but go slow enough so you can get off the road if you have to. I want you here at the station so you can file an official report.”

By the time she reached the sheriff’s office, Tom was waiting. He was at the front talking to one of his deputies and, seeing her, came over immediately.

As they headed down the hall, Pax tugged at the leash, wanting to visit his friends in the bullpen. He knew he’d be able to mooch a doughnut or two there. Sister Agatha pulled him closer to her, but Tom just smiled.

“Let him go. The officers always enjoy seeing him.”

As she did, she saw Fritz Albrecht watching from one of the desks. She nodded to him, then followed Tom to his office. “I called you as soon as I could,” she said.

Tom closed the door, looking at the stains on her habit, then sniffed the air. “Interesting smell. Just so I’m sure I got it right—the van nearly struck the Harley on the first pass?”

“I think he wanted to force me off the road, maybe cause me to have an accident without risking injury to himself. When it didn’t work, he followed up with the melon, which he’d obviously intended to use eventually. He wasn’t aiming to hit me with it, I don’t think. He wanted my fear to do the job for him and cause me to wreck,” she said, then added, “I recovered the wig and mask for you, handling both as carefully as I could. They’re the cheap Halloween costume kind.”

“Where are they?”

“In the sidecar. Just follow your nose.”

“I’ll have a deputy go get them,” he said, then stepped out into the hall.

After he came back, Tom said nothing, lost in thought for several moments. At long last, he spoke. “This has gone beyond scratched messages, threatening e-mails, and phone calls. You’ve made a very dangerous enemy who has obviously decided to up the stakes.”

She told him about her visit to the nursery and the Sanchez neighborhood, and what she’d learned. “The question that needs to be answered is whether I was the target—you know, me personally—or was it the monastery?”

“Does it matter?
You’re
the face of the monastery in the community.”

“Yes, but so are Sister de Lourdes and Sister Bernarda. Are they in danger, too? And what about Sister Jo?”

“I wish I could tell you,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s go back to what we know. You’ve given me a description of the van. Now tell me about the driver. Was it Gerry Bennett? He seems to be the focus of most of what you and I have been hearing lately.”

“I don’t know. It all happened too fast, and he was shaded by the vehicle’s interior. I thought about it on the way here, too, but the only things I remember clearly are his sunglasses and hat…baseball cap, I think. I was just too busy trying to keep Pax and me alive to see anything else.”

He nodded. “I hear you.”

“But the white van, it was an older model, I think, and had a sign on its side and across the rear doors. The lettering was blue. I wish I could tell you what it said, but I couldn’t make it out.”

“The colors will help. At least we can rule out plain white vans or other white vans with different color lettering.”

“Unfortunately, that still leaves a lot of possibilities,” she said. “White vans with signs are everywhere.”

“I’ll check Gerry Bennett’s location during the time of the incident. Until I have something other than vague gossip, I can’t bring him in.”