Bad Faith (10 page)

Reverend Mother took her accustomed seat behind the grille that opened to the parlor, and Sister Agatha went to the other side, joining the sheriff.

“Reverend Mother, I want you to know that I’ve received permission from the archbishop to come into the enclosure if I need to, just like the other repairmen.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“But I want you to know that my only interest is determining who killed Father Anselm and why. That’s a goal we have in common, so try to focus on that.”

Sister Agatha noticed that his tone was far less rude than it had been. Unless she missed her guess, Tom wanted something from them.

“We’ll accept the necessity of your presence among us, but we’ll insist that Sister Agatha accompany you when you’re here if you have to go into our cloistered areas. That’s the same rule all workmen follow.”

“Agreed.” The sheriff looked at Sister Agatha calmly, nodded, then looked back at Reverend Mother. “The other matter I wanted to discuss with you concerns Rex here. He’s an exceptionally well-trained police dog, but he’s grown mellow over the years and now isn’t as aggressive as we need him to be. Although he’s not working out for us, he’s a fine dog and I think he may be exactly what the monastery needs right now in light of what’s going on out there.”

“What do you mean?” Reverend Mother asked.

“If this dog can get into the monastery as easily as he seems to be able to do, it’s possible that a human intruder is doing likewise. If that’s the case, Rex is the best deterrent I can think of. I’m sure the dog will protect you and the sisters.”

“Do you think
we’re
in danger? Please be very honest, Sheriff. We need to know the truth.” Reverend Mother leaned forward, insistent.

“I’m not sure if anyone else is in danger, but none of us can afford to disregard the possibility that Father Anselm’s death was caused by an intruder. Under the circumstances, a dog like Rex is a good asset for you all to have on your side.”

Reverend Mother considered the sheriff’s words for several moments, her eyes closed. “All right,” she said at last, looking first at the sheriff, then at Sister Agatha. “Rex is welcome to make his home with us.”

“I think you’ve made the right decision. But there’s one more thing. Rex is a police dog and will require training with a new handler. Since he seems fond of Sister Agatha, you might consider letting her be the one who works—”He stopped speaking as bells began ringing.

Reverend Mother waited until the bells had stopped before answering. “Done. Now, if you have no further need for me, the bells are calling me to Terce, the prayers for the third hour.”

As she stood and left, they heard the soft swish of Reverend Mother’s habit and the click of her rosary beads, but her footsteps were silent.

“Looks like you’ve got yourselves a dog,” Tom said, handing Sister Agatha the leash.

As she took it, Reverend Mother suddenly reappeared at the grille, startling both of them. “By the way, since we already have one Rex here—Our Lord—we’ll have to change the dog’s name. I was thinking of Pax.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Sheriff Green said. “The sound is similar. He’s smart and will catch on quickly.”

“Pax it is, then, Mother,” Sister Agatha said, and looked down at the dog who was sitting beside her. “You’re now a member of our monastery, Brother Pax, and you’ll be the guardian of the gate.”

The dog looked first at the sheriff, then back at Sister Agatha, then lay down by her feet.

“So it’s done,” Tom Green said with a satisfied nod. “I better get going. I have an appointment with the rectory housekeeper.”

As he left, Sister Agatha heard Sister Bernarda come up behind her. “Your charges, our novice and postulant, will soon be waiting for you at the scriptorium.”

“Thank you for the reminder.” Sister Agatha stood. “Come, Pax. As our newly appointed brother and guardian, you’re welcome to share the enclosure with us.”

D
uring class, Sister Agatha took the opportunity to talk to Celia alone. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Father Anselm lately, Celia, and there’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did you know Father Anselm? If I remember correctly, he seemed to think so,” she said, deliberately keeping her tone casual.

“He was our parish priest. I went to confession with him lots of times. But around town I was always known as Celia, Mother. You can ask anyone.”

“Then why were you so upset when you saw him?”

She hesitated before answering. “Father was an important part of this monastery. I wanted to make a good impression. But then I dropped the box, remember, Mother Mistress? And since I’d already made you angry with me that morning, the last thing I wanted was to get in trouble again.”

It seemed reasonable, and she knew that everything Celia had said was true, but instinct told her that there was more the postulant wasn’t telling her. She let the matter drop for now. Pressing her now based only on her own speculations would get her nowhere.

After her scheduled classes with the novice and the postulant, Sister Agatha took Pax to the patio behind the kitchen and went to see Reverend Mother.

“Mother, with your permission, I’d
like to go to Bernalillo and pay Joan Sanchez a visit,” she said, and explained what Frances Williams had told her.

“Does she live in a safe neighborhood? I’m told that some sections of town are getting dangerous.”

“The neighborhood isn’t the finest, but I’ll be all right, Mother. I’m positive.”

Reverend Mother considered it. “You may go, but not alone. Take the dog with you.”

“Mother, we don’t have the Antichrysler at the moment.”

“But the motorcycle has a sidecar. That was one of your selling points, wasn’t it?” Her eyes twinkled. “Don’t dogs like hanging their heads out of car windows anymore and letting their ears flap around in the wind?”

Sister Agatha smiled. “You’re right, Mother, I’ll see how Pax likes the sidecar.”

“You’re not to go alone if Pax won’t cooperate.” Seeing Sister Agatha nod, she continued. “Before you leave, I’d like you to stop by your cell. You’ll find a pair of long pants we’ve set aside that should fit you. They’re for you to wear under your habit while on the motorcycle.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Her habit was loose and long, and still covered her legs when she rode. Nothing really showed, so she hadn’t bothered to think about it, except to enjoy the wind on her legs. But this was one concession she knew she had to make.

“A word of caution,” Reverend Mother added at last. “The sheriff will also want to talk to Mrs. Sanchez, I’m sure. He won’t like the idea of you beating him to the punch.”

She smiled slowly. “But I’m not going as an investigator. I’m simply going to talk to people who knew Father Anselm and were here when it happened so I can offer comfort and let them know about the funeral services. Of course, I’ll need to find out from Frances Williams what arrangements have been made for the funeral—unless you already know, Mother.” She looked at the abbess questioningly.

Reverend Mother nodded. “The service will be the day after tomorrow at ten-thirty
A.M.
at the parish church. He’ll be buried in St. Augustine’s cemetery directly afterwards.”

“That must mean that the new priest is finally on his way.”

“It does. Father Mahoney is said to be eager to leave Santa Fe and come to serve us here in less affluent surroundings.”

It never ceased to amaze her how Reverend Mother, who never left the enclosure, knew so much about the community. The direct line to her desk must have been ringing off the hook lately, though only other clergy had that number.

“Does he know the circumstances surrounding Father An-selm’s death?”

Reverend Mother nodded once. “From what I was told, he’s not in the least bit concerned. He used to be a professional wrestler. His stage name, if you will, was Apocalypse Now. I understand he traveled quite a bit, and was quite well-known to those who appreciate that type of entertainment. Father Mahoney assured His Excellency that if anyone can take care of himself, he can.”

Sister Agatha nearly laughed. “If you don’t need me anymore then, Mother, I’ll be on my way.”

Sister Agatha went to her cell, and retrieved what turned out to be a pair of large black slacks with an elastic waistband—undoubtedly part of a clothing donation meant for St. Francis’ Pantry and rerouted for repairs to the monastery.

Sister Agatha then went to get Pax and, after a brief search, found him with Sister Ignatius in the library.

“He was outside.” Sister Ignatius gave her one of her laser-sharp looks. “This animal was sent to us from God. He should be inside with us, and we should be grateful for his company.”

“We are, but he needs to be outside some of the time,” Sister Agatha said, bending down to pet him. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take him with me now. Mother wants him to accompany me on an errand to town.”

“Then he’ll be your protector while you’re away from the monastery.”

“That’s the idea.” Sister Agatha thought about putting the leash on the animal, but decided that could wait. With his training as a police dog, she could trust him to stay close. Sticking it in her pocket, she went outside with Pax. Before she could even point to the sidecar, the dog jumped in and made himself comfortable, turning around to look forward, and poking his head around the small curved windscreen. She looked at the dog and toyed with the idea of putting a helmet and goggles on him, then laughed. “Okay, Pax, hang on, and I sure hope you don’t mind bugs in your teeth.”

As they passed through a section of San Felipe Pueblo, people stopped what they were doing and watched her and Pax. Some laughed, some looked appalled, but there was no way to avoid attention when a nun was traveling on a motorcycle with a dog the size of Pax riding in the sidecar. Trying to surreptitiously follow a suspect would be impossible. All the more reason to leave the dangerous work to Sheriff Green, she realized.

Twenty minutes later, she reached Mrs. Sanchez’s home a few blocks west of Camino del Pueblo. At one time, she was sure this house had been beautiful. Now the two-story frame house with a corrugated metal roof needed paint, a new screen door, and some serious landscaping. Tumbleweeds and goat-heads competed for ground. The picket fence was full of gaps, and several slats were broken, dangling in place.

As she parked at the curb and switched off the engine, Mrs. Sanchez, a woman in her late thirties, came out onto the wooden porch. Unlike the conservative dark clothes she wore to church, Mrs. Sanchez was wearing tight jeans and a long, faded pink T-shirt that fit her snugly. She had long, dark hair fastened in a ponytail at the base of her neck.

She was beautiful, but there was a hard edge about her that put Sister Agatha on her guard. She took Pax with her on the leash walking up the bindweed-choked sidewalk to the porch.

“Hello, Sister Agatha, isn’t it? What brings you here on a flashy motorcycle with a big dog?” she added, laughing.

‘The motorcycle is a recent donation, and so is Brother Pax. Do you like dogs?”

Mrs. Sanchez leaned down to pet him. “Bring him inside with you if you want. It’s too hot to stay out here boiling in the sun.” As they sat down in the air-conditioned room, Joan Sanchez watched Sister Agatha curiously. “Now tell me, Sister. What brings you to my house?”

“I came to let you know about Father Anselm’s funeral services.”

Mrs. Sanchez bit at her lip nervously. “When is it going to be held?”

“The day after tomorrow,” she said and gave Mrs. Sanchez the details.

“I still can’t believe he’s dead,” Joan said, her voice trembling. “But they always say the good die young.”

“I understand your name appeared in Father’s appointment book at regular intervals. Were you in counseling with Father?”

“My husband died a few months ago,” she said with a nod. “It’s been a difficult time for me.”

“It’s never easy to accept the death of someone you love,” she said, remembering Kevin’s passing. “I’m glad Fattier was there for you when you needed him. And I’m sure our new priest, Father Mahoney, will do the same for you when he arrives.”

“Father Anselm helped me a lot at first, but I guess he eventually got tired of my coming to him. For the past few weeks, I hadn’t been able to get hold of him. I had the feeling he was deliberately avoiding me.”

“Maybe there was another parishioner with a more pressing need.”

“I don’t know about that. All I can tell you for sure is that he really let me down,” she said, standing up and beginning to pace. “I really thought I could trust him and count on him. He’s a
priest.
But I should have known better. You can’t count on anyone these days.”

Their eyes met, and Sister felt a cold chill up her spine. There was something confused, and dangerous, in this woman’s gaze. Joan Sanchez had clearly experienced deep pain, and hadn’t quite emerged whole on the other side of that dark tunnel. People like that, in an attempt to ease the pain, often blamed others for what had happened to them, and sometimes the ones who tried to help them paid the highest price.

Sister Agatha was climbing back onto the Harley just as Sheriff Green pulled up and got out of his car. She left the engine off, and waited for him to approach. Anger was clearly etched on his features. If he had been a cartoon character, smoke would have been coming from his ears.

“I haven’t even questioned this suspect yet, and here you are. You’re interfering with a police investigation. Are you aware of that?”

“I only stopped by to inform Mrs. Sanchez that Father Anselm’s funeral is going to be held the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh, please. You don’t expect me to believe that’s all you talked about.”

Rather than get into a useless argument, she took a deep breath and filled him in on what she’d learned. She made sure to mention that Mrs. Sanchez had been counseled by Father Anselm, and what Mrs. Sanchez had said about the priest avoiding her recently.

“Thanks for being honest with me, but I guess that’s par for the course with a nun—even one on a Harley with a K-9 in the sidecar.” He started to smile, but stopped himself and grew somber again. “But understand this—I will
not
tolerate you interfering in my case.”

“I’m just helping.”

“I don’t need your help, but if you insist on meddling, then you better get one thing straight.
Anything
you learn, you turn over to me. Otherwise I’ll slap you with a charge of obstruction of justice.”

“Of course I’ll share whatever I find out with you. We’re not competing, Tom.” She stopped and smiled. “And you should be glad that we’re not, or it would be like it was in high school and college. You wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Oh, really?” The challenge made a familiar competitive spark light up in his eyes.

“Yes, really. I depend on God now. That gives me an even greater advantage.” She smiled. “Mind you, there’s no doubt that you’re bigger and tougher in some ways than I am, but remember David and Goliath? News flash. The little guy won.”

“Just so I’m clear—we
are
on the same side?”

“You bet,” she said. “You want answers, and I want you to find them quickly so the monastery will be at peace again.”

“All right. Now let me tell
you
something about Joan Sanchez that should encourage you to steer clear of her in the future. It’s not exactly confidential. You could find it in the courthouse records if you looked hard enough. But I’d rather you avoid doing that, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Her husband died in a shooting incident that the district attorney and the investigating officer concluded was ‘accidental.’ But I reviewed the evidence recently, and I’ve got to tell you, I wouldn’t have closed the case so quickly. Her story was that Mr. Sanchez was teaching her how to load the weapon and the gun went off. But the report says she was covered with cuts and bruises. Mrs. Sanchez stated that she got the injuries when she fell, running back to their car to get help because they were in the middle of nowhere. But I don’t buy it. The cuts weren’t the kind one gets from tumbleweeds and rocks, and they were mostly on her face. She insisted she fell, but the profile screams battered wife.”

“Why didn’t the investigating officer look into it some more?”

“She’d never pressed charges, so there was nothing else he could do. He found no previous record that she was the victim of spousal abuse. A couple of neighbors said that they heard screaming some nights, but she never called the police or mentioned abuse to anyone.”

“You think she killed him?”

“I can’t prove it But, in a word, yes. I think she set him up, too, so there’d be no witnesses.”

“And you’re linking that to Father Anselm’s death… how?”

“Circumstantial evidence indicates she had a thing for him. Or maybe she said something during confession, then decided to get rid of her confidant.”

Sister Agatha shook her head slowly. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to know the killer has been found, but now that I think about it, I don’t think she did it. I can see her wanting to rid herself of a man who was abusing her, but not one whose help she needed. It doesn’t make sense. If she’d stopped calling Father all of a sudden, giving up on either herself or him, that would have been a different story.”

“Poison is a weapon that requires premeditation and finesse, if you will, and it’s a method often attributed to women. If Joan Sanchez killed her husband, then a second murder would have come easier to her. From what I’ve learned, I think it’s possible she may have had a grievance against the Church. If that’s the case, as a nun, you’re also an enemy. Keep that in mind and steer clear of her, you hear?’

Sister Agatha knew he wanted her to give him her word, but she couldn’t do that. She was in pursuit of answers, just as he was, and there was no telling what she might have to do in the future to get them. Quickly switching on the motorcycle, and patting Pax on the head, she gave the sheriff a thumbs-up. “Be seeing you!”

As she drove away, she caught the look on his face in her rearview mirror. His jaw was set and his expression hard. It didn’t take a genius to know what was going through his mind. Although he had accepted the fact that he couldn’t stop her from investigating, he would do everything in his power to keep her on a short leash.