Bad Faith (12 page)

Finished with her rosary, Sister Gertrude opened her eyes. “The pain’s gone now. I’m all right. We can go back to the monastery.”

“We have to get you checked out, Your Charity,” Sister Agatha said. “To serve God well, you need your health.” She knew from experience that it was the only argument that had even a remote chance with Sister Gertrude. “But, with luck, we’ll be back home soon.”

As they rode on in silence, Sister Agatha prayed for her.It was very hard for cloistered nuns to leave the enclosure. The trip itself was bound to tax Sister’s heart. Sister Gertrude was a stern nun who seldom spoke to anyone except when absolutely necessary. Her motto was that one couldn’t listen to God if one’s own mouth was operating at the same time.

“Don’t worry, Sister. I’ll be with you every step of the way,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid of going to the hospital.”

“I don’t blame you, Sister. I don’t trust any profession where people occasionally wear masks like robbers,” Sister Agatha said, teasing her.

Sister Gertrude almost smiled, and as far as Sister Agatha was concerned, that qualified as a miracle.

As silence stretched between them, Sister Agatha considered asking Patsy if she’d given any more thought to what she’d asked her earlier concerning Father’s possible enemies. But, as she glanced at Sister Gertrude’s drawn face, she quickly discarded the idea. Talking about something like that would only upset Sister Gertrude even more.

When they arrived at the satellite Catholic hospital on Albuquerque’s west side, nurses came out to meet them, thanks to Sister Bernarda’s call. As they wheeled Sister Gertrude to the examining room, Sister Agatha made sure that she stayed close by. She knew that seeing an extern nearby was one of the most comforting things for a cloistered nun who’d been forced to leave her beloved monastery.

Fortunately, there were other nuns and a priest at this hospital as well, and they would be stopping by to offer comfort and prayers, no doubt.

After the doctor had conducted several tests, he asked Sister Agatha to meet him in his office. Leaving Sister Gertrude to rest, Sister Agatha met Dr. Cassidy, a parishioner who was on staff at the hospital and knew all the nuns. He was tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and eyeglasses that were so thick Sister Agatha often wondered how the bridge of his nose could sustain the weight.

“I just received a very strange call from Sheriff Green in Bernalillo.”

So Tom had heard already… not that she should have been surprised. “Let me guess. He wanted to know if Sister Gertrude had been poisoned?”

“Correct.”

“She wasn’t, was she?”

“We’ve ordered tests that will answer that question. But I suspect that she had a mild heart attack. You heard her tell me that she’s been having chest pains for months now.”

“She’d never mentioned that before now to anyone that I know of,” Sister Agatha said. “But we’ve all been under a lot of stress lately.”

“I’d like to keep Sister here overnight for observation and run a few more tests this evening, but unless she has another episode, you’ll be able to take her home tomorrow. For now, I’ve arranged for her to be placed in a private room and I’ve notified our chaplain so he can pay her a visit.”

“Thank you, Doctor. We appreciate it.”

Sister Agatha knew it would be a long night. As long as Sister Gertrude was here, she would remain with her. As she left Dr. Cassidy’s office to go tell Sister the news, she saw Sheriff Green striding down the hall toward her.

“How’s Sister Gertrude doing?”

“Better, thanks.”

“From what I’ve been able to gather so far, it doesn’t look like she was poisoned. But if the tests come back with suspicious results, I’m going to get a search warrant and look through that entire monastery with a fine-tooth comb.”

“It’s not poisoning, based upon what the doctor just told me.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I know you’ve been given permission to enter the cloister, but unless you absolutely have to, I sure wish you wouldn’t. The nuns are having a really hard time with all this. To see you coming into the cloister, searching for a killer…” She paused, then added, “The nuns really need you to give them a break.”

“You should look at it another way. If I went into the enclosure and found the evidence I need, only one person would lose—the murderer.”

“You’re wrong. All the nuns have already lost. When you or your deputies come to the monastery, it feels like our enclosure—our way of life—is under siege.”

“The killer is responsible for disrupting your lives, not the police. We’re just part of the cleanup.”

She watched Tom walk away, wishing there was something more she could have said to make him understand. Yet she knew duty had locked him on his course. But she had her own responsibilities—to the nuns and the monastery. She’d help him find the killer, but not at the expense of the innocent.

S
ister Agatha woke up to the sound of the morning-shift nurse coming in to check on Sister Gertrude. As she straightened out in her chair, the muscles in her back screamed in pain.

“I bet you’re regretting not sleeping in the bed down the hall now,” the nurse said sympathetically, taking Sister Gertrude’s vital signs with brisk efficiency, and writing down the results on a clipboard.

“We each have our duties,” Sister Agatha said, wishing she had half a dozen aspirins. She hadn’t taken any of her arthritis medication and her joints were all stiff and sore.

The nurse smiled, wished them both a good morning, and quickly disappeared. Five minutes later a perky brunette in her twenties, whose name tag read Maria Leahy, brought a breakfast tray for Sister Gertrude that included a dish of yogurt. “Now that you’re away from the monastery, you should take advantage and indulge yourself a bit!” she said cheerfully.

Sister Gertrude looked at the young woman as if she’d suddenly grown two heads.

Sister Agatha glanced at Sister Gertrude, smiled and shrugged wordlessly. For some odd reason, people always assumed that leaving the monastery was like a vacation for a nun. They just didn’t understand that the cloister was the world they loved. Everything in there spelled order, stability, and security to the nuns. It was the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Out here in mainstream society there were too few people who considered their life’s work a source of happiness and satisfaction, and even fewer who’d given their hearts to the professions they’d chosen. They existed from day to day, marking time without a goal that would give their lives meaning and carry them beyond their time of death. And yet they felt sorry for the nuns!

As the doctor came in to further examine Sister Gertrude, Sister Agatha stepped out into the hall, giving Sister Gertrude her privacy. Doctors, like priests, were in positions of trust. Rosary in hand, she waited in the corridor until the doctor finally emerged.

“How is she doing, Doctor? Will she be released today?”

“She seems fine. You can take her home. To be perfectly honest, I think she’ll rest easier at the monastery. And there’s been a newspaper reporter nosing around. I think she wants to do a story about the cloistered nuns at the monastery and link them to Father Anselm’s death.”

“There is no link,” she said coldly. “But if the reporter insists on pursuing this, she must talk to Reverend Mother first. I won’t have anyone bothering a sister who’s here because she had a problem with her heart.”

“Agreed. I just hope she doesn’t try to slip past the desk and find Sister’s room.”

“Trust me, Doc, even if she got past the desk, she’d still have to go through me, and I’d make that attempt an experience she’d never forget.”

He laughed. “I believe that, Sister. You and Sister Bernarda are very protective of the cloistered nuns.”

“They’re family.”

He nodded slowly. “Once she’s back in the monastery, make sure she gets lots of rest and that she eats a balanced diet and drinks plenty of liquids. No fasting.”

“It’s Ordinary Time now, not like during Lent. None of us is fasting.”

“All right. I’ll order the discharge paperwork.”

“Before you go, can you tell me if the blood tests came back?”

He nodded. “It wasn’t poisoning.”

Sister Agatha went to the desk and asked where she could make a private call. She didn’t want to use the phone in Sister Gertrude’s room in case Sister Bernarda had any news or questions about the investigation that required a response from her. She wouldn’t take a chance of upsetting Sister Gertrude right now.

The nurse looked both ways, said something about “not supposed to do this,” then handed her a phone and pushed the number nine. Sister Agatha thanked the nurse and dialed. Sister Bernarda answered after the second ring.

“Sister Gertrude can come home this morning, so we’ll be ready to head back as soon as we can find transportation. Will you tell Reverend Mother?”

“Of course.” There was a pause. “Sister Mary Lazarus was sleepwalking again last night. I found her in the kitchen and led her back to her cell.”

“That’s usually all it requires,” Sister Agatha answered.

“And believe it or not, I left Pax in your cell, but when I led Sister back to her cell I saw the dog was wandering around outside. I didn’t call him back inside. I was too tired. Yet he was back in your cell this morning again like it had never happened.”

“We never fixed that screen in the hall.”

“It wasn’t dislodged, but the screen itself is so torn … I don’t know, maybe that
is
his doggie door.” She paused. “By the way, Frank Walters is here again, fixing two of the computers. He says we need to upgrade soon.”

Sister Agatha sighed. “Maybe we can get someone to donate what’s needed.”

“Well, I can certainly put prayer power to work on that.”

“Who’s in the scriptorium now with Mr. Walters?”

“No one, but Sister Mary Lazarus is sitting in the hall just outside the scriptorium. She’s been told she’s not to talk to Mr. Walters. If he needs something, or if he’s ready to be escorted back out, she’ll come get me. If Sister Mary Lazarus
is
seriously considering being an extern nun, she might as well get used to the extra duties.”

Sister Agatha paused. “I’m sorry, Your Charity. I haven’t been much help to you lately, have I?”

“You’re doing what we need you to do—for all of us.”

“Agreed.” Seeing a nurse stop at the counter and look in her direction, she made a hand gesture telling her she wouldn’t be long. “I think they want me to get off this phone. Can you find someone with a car to give us a ride?” Sister Agatha asked. “Patsy won’t mind, if she’s free.”

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t you give it another thought.”

It was over an hour before their ride arrived. It was Sister Bernarda driving—of all things—the Antichrysler. It was still burning oil and sputtering, but it ran.

“Mr. Gonzales heard about Sister Gertrude yesterday, and he stuffed on a muffler and fixed the car as best he could with salvaged parts,” Sister Bernarda explained. “It’ll still need a complete overhaul, but because of everything that’s happened, he’s offered to come to the monastery when he can and work on it there. That way we’ll have it available in case of a similar emergency.”

As they passed through the monastery gate, she saw Sheriff Green’s car in the compound. He was walking along the wall beside the gate and feeling the adobe with his hand, as if he were hoping to find a hidden opening.

“Let me out here,” she asked, then looked at Sister Gertrude. “Sister Bernarda will help you inside, Your Charity.”

“Stop treating me like an invalid. I’m fine.”

“Yes, Your Charity.” Sister Agatha glanced at Sister Bernarda. “How long has the sheriff been here?”

“Since eight o’clock, but before I left, I warned him that the parlor doors would be locked until I got back. He said he’d wait for you if he needed to go inside, but I think he’s really hoping it won’t be necessary.”

“I’ll try to find out what’s going on.”

“Hopefully he’ll be gone soon. Our new chaplain, Father Mahoney, is arriving in about an hour. He’ll be doing the rededication and reconsecration ceremony for the chapel. The archbishop had wanted to do this himself and kept hoping that his doctor would say that he was finally well enough to travel, but the doctor’s holding firm.”

“Is Frank Walters still here?”

“No, he left just before I did. He reminded us to back up our work on floppies every time we finish a file. He’s still not sure what’s making the computers crash so frequently.”

“Will you greet Father Mahoney when he arrives and make sure the vestments he needs are ready? Father Anselm’s alb was taken by the police, so we need to get another one out from the storage closet. As sacristan, I should do that, but I have to speak to Sheriff Green, so I can’t be sure I’ll get to it in time.”

Sister Bernarda agreed and Sister Agatha went to join the sheriff. She hoped she’d be able to help him and, at the same time, hurry him along. She really wanted to attend the rededication ceremony, but Reverend Mother had asked her to give this case priority. If she needed to escort the sheriff inside, or if he needed to ask her any questions, she’d have to remain at his disposal. As it had been so often in the past, the vow of obedience was the one she found hardest to honor.

“Hello, Tom. Have you found anything interesting?” Sister Agatha asked, joining him. She noted a bruise on his face below his eye, but didn’t mention it, choosing to wait and see if he said anything.

He shook his head. “This place looks to be as secure as Fort Knox.”

“Yet Pax goes in and out as if we had a revolving door.” She told him what Sister Bernarda had said.

“I don’t get it. He not only gets into the grounds but he now has his own doggie door somewhere to let him in and out of the monastery building itself. It’s too bad I can’t blame the turn,” he added half jokingly. “But he’d never be able to open it.”

“Or fit in it,” Sister Agatha said, laughing.

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this, Tom, and I’ve got a new theory.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I’m not thrilled about this, but here it is. I think one of the sisters, hoping to make you focus on the possibility of an intruder, is letting the dog in and out. The keys to the front door are left on a hook in the parlor at night.” She leaned against the wall, feeling its solidity against her back, and absently fingered her rosary beads, noting again the mark on the sheriff’s face. “It may not be right, but I’m sure whoever is doing it is simply trying to protect the others.”

“In a warped way, that makes sense,” he conceded. He lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

She knew he was weighing the other possibility—that one of the nuns was inviting an intruder in, but he didn’t say anything and she was grateful for that. It would have been awkward, to say the least, to discuss that possibility with him.

“Tell me something. How long is the alb stored in that drawer generally? I’m sure it has to be laundered and pressed at times.”

Noting the abrupt change in subject, she wondered where this was heading. “I usually take it to Sister Clothilde to wash and press every Sunday after Mass. We have two sets, so another is put in its place in the drawer you saw and they’re rotated that way.”

“Then, since Father said his last Mass on Monday, the alb he used had only been there overnight?”

“Yes, but what are you getting at?”

“The toxicology reports were faxed to me this morning— which, by the way, should tell you how important this case has become. These things can take weeks, but in this case, it’s taken only five days.”

“What did you find out?” she asked, her heart hammering inside her chest.

“Father Anselm didn’t ingest the poison. He absorbed it through his skin. A test of fibers from the alb’s collar show that the garment had been contaminated with a concentrated extract made from monkshood.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. So unless we can figure out how an intruder could have gotten into the monastery to doctor the alb, then one of the nuns
has
to be responsible. And there’s something else you should know. The amount of poison Father Anselm took in would not normally have been fatal to a person his age and size. What caused his death was that the aconite initially stimulated, then paralyzed, his already weakened heart. Father Anselm, according to the medical examiner who did the autopsy, had an undiagnosed heart condition.”

Anger over Father’s senseless murder nearly choked the breath out of her. She tried to calm down and remember she was a nun, and that she was supposed to love others as herself. Hatred for an enemy, no matter how justified, wasn’t an acceptable option.

“I have to admit, it sounds like a malicious trick—a dangerous stunt gone wrong—not premeditated murder. None of our sisters would ever do such a thing. I’d stake my life on it,” she said with absolute conviction.

“It sounds more like a high school prank to me, like doctoring cookies with a laxative, but the nuns would have spotted a stranger in here, even a kid.” Tom shook his head. “I need a suspect who had the opportunity to handle the alb, contaminate it, then put it away again. It would have had to be someone who knew where such things were kept—a nun, or a relative, or someone who prayed alone in the chapel and got a chance to sneak around. Maybe even an altar boy—or someone who was an altar boy once. Or, if not that, then we’ve got to find how an intruder could get in here and leave before being seen.”

“We seldom have altar boys but our chapel is always open during the day, as well as the gate. Maybe someone did go into the sacristy unnoticed, but our chapel is never left unattended. The Blessed Sacrament is kept out for adoration during the day. One of us is always there—except after we lock up, of course, at night.”

“Maybe someone got hold of the key. You said it’s kept out on a hook in the public parlor. There’s an answer, Sister, and we better find it soon. Unfortunately, the only suspects I have right now are those known to have been around the alb the day of the murder—you and that postulant, Celia.”

“Celia didn’t harm anyone, and neither did I,” she said firmly.

“I’ll still have to question Celia again—at the station if necessary.”

“If you take her out of the monastery, you’ll delay her formation. When she returns to us, that will be considered her first day as a postulant and the almost three months she’s already spent with us won’t count toward the twelve months her postulancy requires. So before you tamper with her future, Tom, think of the way this is shaping up. In addition to being our chaplain, Father Anselm was also the headmaster of St. Charles Academy. This whole business screams that a kid did it. Your test results agree that this wasn’t meant to cause his death—just to make him sick. It appears to be a prank that turned lethal. From the beginning, we’ve been looking for a huge hole or entry spot—something an adult could use to gain access to the monastery. But if the culprit is a kid, any window might do, and climbing a tree is second nature to them.”