The Prodigal Nun (3 page)

“Maybe so. That might mean it’s someone people would ordinarily trust, so you better warn the other nuns right away.”

“When it comes to defending ourselves, we have very few options,” Sister Agatha said.

“I’ll increase patrols in the area and assign a deputy to keep an eye on the monastery. You have Pax, too. Keep him outside at night for the time being. If there’s a problem, he’ll bark—and be one heckuva deterrent.”

Whispering a soft prayer that God would also send His angels to watch over them, Sister Agatha led Sheriff Green through the chapel doors.

W
HILE THE EXTERNS SERVED TEA AND SISTER
Clothilde’s Cloister Cluster Cookies in the chapel foyer, Sister Agatha and Sheriff Green questioned people individually in the parlor.

Simplicity defined the decor here. A crucifix made of pine stained a dark brown had been placed on the whitewashed wall. A wooden desk stood toward the back and, thanks to the extremely prolific lilac bushes outside, there was a vase filled with blossoms on it. A small quilted wall hanging depicting the Annunciation, crafted by Sister Maria Victoria, their resident seamstress, was hung on the right wall.

The townspeople who’d attended their early morning Mass hadn’t been very helpful so far. They’d neither seen nor heard anything outside during the service. Although she’d hoped things would turn out differently, Sister Agatha wasn’t surprised.

Mrs. Brown was the last churchgoer Sheriff Green questioned. The paramedics had, at long last, pronounced her in good shape. Despite her age and the shock she’d received, Mrs. Brown seemed more angry than frightened now. Although she’d willingly answered all the sheriff’s questions, she was now demanding answers from him.

“Jane cared about everyone. She didn’t deserve this,” Mrs. Brown said. “Why was she attacked? Was it a robber? I saw the open car doors. Was my car broken into?”

“We’ve just started to work this case, Mrs. Brown,” Sheriff Green said. “It’s much too early for us to have definitive answers on anything. That’s why we need your help. Can you tell me if Mrs. Sanchez had any enemies?”

“That woman helped anyone who needed her. I don’t know why anyone would want to harm her.” She wiped a tear away with her white linen handkerchief.

After a few more questions that got him nowhere, Tom stood and signaled Sister Bernarda. She’d help Mrs. Brown back outside, where a deputy would try to find out if anything was missing from her vehicle.

As the two left, Sheriff Green glanced at Sister Agatha. “Who’s next?”

“Father Mahoney.”

Their priest, a former professional wrestler, came in a moment later. As he sat down they could see the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth.

“I’ve done my best to keep everyone calm as you asked, Sheriff Green, but I was scheduled to celebrate other Masses today. Is it possible for us to talk this afternoon?”

Tom shook his head, then held out his cell phone. “Call whomever you need to take over those duties for you, Father. I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary,” he said, exhaling softly. “I had a feeling you’d say that, so I already called to make arrangements.”

“Good,” Sheriff Green said, placing the cell back in his pocket. “How well did you know Jane Sanchez, Father?”

“For the past three months she and her husband have been coming to my office for counseling.”

“Was their marriage in trouble?” the sheriff asked instantly.

Father Mahoney hesitated.

“I’m assuming this isn’t covered by the seal of the confessional,” the sheriff pressed.

“No, it isn’t, but I’m a licensed psychologist, and doctor/patient confidentiality survives death.”

“Father, with all due respect, let me remind you that Jane Sanchez was a
murder
victim.”

“I understand, Sheriff Green, but there are certain things I can’t discuss with you. What I
can
tell you is that they were both committed to making their marriage strong. So if you’re thinking that her husband may have had something to do with her murder, you’re way off the mark. They had problems, like most couples, but Louis loves…loved…that woman.”

“Generally, what kind of problems were they facing?” When Father Mahoney hesitated, Sheriff Green added, “If you don’t think her husband’s responsible, then help me eliminate him from my suspect list so we can move on in the investigation.”

Father Mahoney considered it, then at last nodded. “I can only tell you what’s already public knowledge. Louis has a heart condition, and Jane was terrified of losing him. They were constantly at odds because Louis had his own outlook on how to deal with those health issues. He wanted to live his life to the fullest—rejecting the idea of diet and exercise. Jane was doing her best to keep him on a saner course of action.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about the couple? Was there any reason for jealousy—perhaps a third person in their relationship?”

“I’ve already told you all I can, Sheriff.”

“I appreciate your help,” Tom said, shaking his hand.

Once Father left, Tom glanced over at Sister Agatha. “I’m through here for now. I’m going to pay Louis Sanchez a visit.”

“Take me along,” she said. “The news of his wife’s death may be easier to take from me—a nun who knew her—than from you. Since you’ll need to get clear answers, having a calming influence there will help you.”

“Good idea.”

“Oh, wait. I just remembered. Do you suppose Fritz Albrecht will tell his boss about you taking me along—me, a member of the public?”

“Mayor Garcia wouldn’t want my job today. Let me deal with Fritz. You ready to go?”

“I’ll get Reverend Mother’s permission, then meet you at your car.”

As Sister Agatha went through the inner door and entered the cloister, Reverend Mother was coming down the hall. Reverend Mother Margaret Mary was a tall woman with rich, dark brown eyes and gentle lines around her face. There was a serenity about her that conveyed a sense of peace, no matter how dire the situation.

Sister Agatha updated her quickly, then asked for permission to leave the monastery.

“Go with my blessing, child.” Reverend Mother called all of them “child,” as was their monastic custom.

Sister Agatha knelt, and Reverend Mother reached for a vial of holy water deep inside the pocket of her habit. Moistening
her finger, she made the sign of the cross on Sister Agatha’s forehead.

A short time later, Sister Agatha was walking across the grounds. Seeing her, Pax came running up. Sister Agatha crouched down and patted the dog. “Not this time, Pax. You’re needed here to take care of the monastery.”

Almost as if he’d understood, the dog ambled off and lay down at the bottom of the shaded steps leading to the parlor.

Sister Agatha joined Sheriff Green, then glanced back at Pax. “He’s really a great dog.”

“As a monastery pet, he’s perfect. As a police dog, he drove his handlers crazy. He has a mind of his own.”

As soon as they were under way, Sheriff Green turned to her and asked, “Is there anything else you’ve remembered about the victim? Maybe something about that last conversation you had with her? I’d really like to get some insight into this woman.”

“We really didn’t speak that often. She asked me to pray for her and Louis a few times, but that’s about it.”

“Yet she called to confide in you?”

“It’s not that surprising. As an extern, I’m one of the nuns she sees most, and people in trouble often find it easier to talk to a nun,” she said, then with a sigh added, “I just wish I’d done more to help her.” She’d be praying for forgiveness for a long time on this.

They arrived at a modest residential neighborhood in northern Bernalillo a short time later. The midsized pueblo-style houses dated back to the fifties and sixties. Cars and pickups, most of them older models with faded paint and small dings, filled the driveways. Several of the low block walls around the
houses had been spray-painted with graffiti, painted over, then vandalized a second or third time. The owners were obviously unable to keep up with the taggers.

“A working-class neighborhood,” Sister Agatha said, mirroring what she was sure he was thinking.

“Help me out. I’m looking for 4432 Calle de Lupe. The street numbers defy logic in this old development.”

“I think it’s the white stucco house with the Taos blue trim,” she said, pointing ahead. “Sister Bernarda came to visit a few months ago, and I remember her mentioning the Taos blue paint.”

“So Sister Bernarda knows them?”

“Yes, but she hasn’t spoken to Jane as much as I have. As I recall, she only stopped by that one time to deliver a prayer book to them.”

They parked in the empty driveway, and Tom went up to the front door, Sister Agatha a few steps behind him. Tom knocked hard, but there was no answer. He tried the doorbell, too, but it didn’t seem to work.

“I’ll check out back. It’s a warm day. Maybe he’s on the patio,” she said.

Stepping off the porch, she walked around the corner. The backyard had an elliptical terra-cotta concrete patio, a gas barbecue, and a small café table with four metal chairs—but no Louis.

Sister Agatha stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the metal and glass screen door. She could make out someone moving through the kitchen.

“Louis?” she called.

Suddenly the door flew open, catching her hard on the left shoulder.

“Help!” she cried out, tumbling off the porch. As she fell, the man raced past her, and she caught the strong smell of
sweat. A figure in a gray hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses raced around the corner of the detached garage and disappeared down the alley.

“Tom!” Sister Agatha struggled to untangle her legs from the folds of her habit and scramble to her feet.

Tom came rushing around the corner of the house. “What the…?”

She pointed toward the alley. “Burglar, gray sweatshirt. Big guy.”

“You okay?”

“Yes, go! He’s getting away!”

Tom sprinted across the yard, then around the garage.

The sound of his footsteps soon faded, and by then she was on her feet, rubbing her aching shoulder. At least nothing was broken—except the glass on the back door.

S
EEING A NEIGHBOR PEERING AT HER FROM A SIDE WINDOW
, Sister Agatha waved frantically and hurried around the low wall to the identically styled pale green house on the next lot. Sheriff Green needed help, and she didn’t have the monastery’s cell phone with her.

As Sister Agatha approached the neighbor’s porch, the door swung open. “Sister, what’s going on over at the Sanchezes’? I heard a loud bang, walked to the window for a look, and saw you on the ground. Did you fall off the porch?”

“I was pushed. A man rushed out of the house and slammed into me. Unless Louis has grown a foot in height since I last saw him, I just surprised a burglar. Sheriff Green chased after him, but I’d like to call the police and get more help.”

The woman nodded and pointed to the phone on the side table. Sister Agatha immediately called 911, but before she’d said
more than a few words she learned that Tom had already called for backup. Deputies were on their way.

“Thank God the Sanchezes weren’t home,” The woman said to Sister Agatha, her eyes big with concern. “But what were you and the sheriff doing there, Sister…?”

“I’m Sister Agatha, and we were looking for Louis,” she said, then quickly added, “How do you know Louis isn’t home?”

“I’m Betty Malone,” she said, introducing herself.

“Louis usually leaves right after Jane goes to church. I haven’t seen him pass by, so I don’t think he’s back yet.”

Sister Agatha looked out the living room window, praying that Betty was right. If Louis was at home, there was a chance he’d been hurt, even killed. She brushed the possibility out of her mind, finding it too horrible to contemplate. “Do you happen to know where Louis goes while Jane’s at Mass?”

“Not really, Sister Agatha.”

Before she could ask anything else, Sister Agatha saw Tom come around the corner, walking toward the house. He looked up, saw her, and shook his head.

“They have just the one car,” Betty continued, unaware of the sheriff’s return. “After Jane leaves, Louis goes out on foot. He comes back an hour or two later, which is usually long before Jane gets back. She likes to run errands by herself on Sunday.”

Betty joined Sister Agatha at the window and pointed farther down the street. “There’s Louis now. Right on time. And that must be the sheriff over there by the house,” she said, looking in the opposite direction. “Guess he didn’t catch the burglar. That’s too bad.”

Sister Agatha looked at Louis, recognizing the overweight, middle-aged man with the slicked-back hair. He was obviously not the man who’d fled the Sanchez home. The burglar had been taller and less…robust.

Catching Tom’s attention, she signaled to him and pointed. Tom caught on quickly and walked to meet Louis, who’d stopped to stare at Tom’s unmarked department vehicle.

“Do you suppose that Jane talked Louis into taking those walks so he’d exercise?” she asked, heading to the door.

Betty followed. “I really can’t say. It’s been a long time since Jane and I had time for anything more than a quick hello. She’s always rushing to her job during the week. On weekends, she’s got her hands full catching up on all the things she didn’t have time to do during the workweek. Louis usually has the car and drives her to work, so she’s stuck until he picks her up in the afternoons. I think that’s why she enjoys her Sunday errands so much.”

“Thanks for letting me use your phone, Betty,” Sister Agatha said, walking out onto the porch.

“Sister, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but it seems a little odd, you and Sheriff Green showing up out of the blue,” she said, waving at Tom. “How did you know that a man had broken into the Sanchez home?”

Sister Agatha hesitated. Though Louis was bound to need the support of friends and neighbors, there was probably a connection between the break-in and Jane’s death. Not wanting to give too much away, she measured her words carefully.