Bad Faith (19 page)

She remembered the ancient formula said on the day a nun made her vows. To the bishop’s query, “What do you ask?” a nun would reply, “The Mercy of God, the poverty of the order, and the company of the sisters.” That defined the family they became, and the bond that strengthened them.

Celia came into the room then and sat down by one of the computers. Sister Bernarda silently gave her materials to work with, then returned to her own computer.

Sister Agatha continued working, trying not to look at Celia. Few postulants made it past the first six months. It was the way of things. Yet, despite everything she’d learned today, in her heart, she still felt that Celia’s vocation was real and that she hadn’t killed Father Anselm. But that still left two very important questions—who was the real killer, and why had the priest been a target?

As Sister Mary Lazarus came into the scriptorium, Sister Agatha stood up. Signaling the others to continue the work they’d begun, she left everything in the capable hands of Sister Bernarda, and went to the infirmary. Her hip and her hands were hurting too much to ignore any longer today. She’d take her pills now, and with luck, the pain would ease by morning.

But there was another pain, one deep within her, that pills would never reach. That would remain with her until the day she found the truth … and maybe long after that.

Sister Agatha took the first shift of portress duty the following morning. It was roughly nine-thirty when Sister Bernarda appeared at the inner door leading to and from the enclosure. “Reverend Mother wants to see you.”

Sister Agatha bowed her head and, leaving Sister Bernarda in the parlor, hurried to find Reverend Mother. The abbess was just down the hall, near the patio.

Reverend Mother smiled at her, then led her out into the garden. “Tell me what you’ve learned, child.”

Sister Agatha detailed everything she’d found out the day before. “Mother, all I have are suspicions. I’m not even sure Celia was trying to commit suicide—I think it might have been an abortion attempt. But I’m basing that solely on the properties of the herb pennyroyal.”

Reverend Mother sat down heavily on one of the benches shaded by the tall cottonwood near the statue of St. Francis. “It just gets worse and worse, doesn’t it?”

Sister Agatha didn’t answer, knowing Mother really didn’t expect it.

“We can’t ask Celia to leave the monastery for sins she may have committed as a child. No one has ever entered our order free of sin and our Lord’s commandment on forgiveness is clear. Who are we to do something other than follow the example He set for us? Of course I’ll have to have a long talk with her, but before I do, I’d like to know the whole story.”

“I’ll try to find out more today, Mother.” With a small bow, she left Reverend Mother and hurried inside.

Sister Agatha knew she couldn’t involve Sheriff Green in this. He’d see the possibility that Father Anselm might have known about Celia’s alleged abortion attempt as a motive for his murder. But one way or another, before the day was through, she would learn what they needed to either clear Celia or condemn her.

Although the prospect of damning her own godchild filled Sister Agatha with dread, she knew the time for truth had come. She had to be fearless and see through what she’d started, before it destroyed everyone and everything she loved.

S
ister Agatha set out for the school with Pax, a plan firmly in mind. She was certain Betsy Moore was a student there. With her mother’s strong feelings about religion, she couldn’t see Ruth sending her to public school. Twice, she thought someone was following her at a set distance. The vehicle was a light-colored sedan, not the pickup this time. And on both occasions it disappeared just as she turned around to go check things out.

She was certain it was being done deliberately to intimidate her, but she’d never cared much for bullies, and always made a point of standing up to them. The only thing this person harassing her had done was make her even more determined to find out who he was as soon as possible.

She arrived at the school thirty minutes later and headed for Patsy Romero’s office, Pax by her side. She found the woman sorting through stacks and stacks of files.

“Hi, Sister,” she said, looking up and pushing her glasses farther up her nose. “I see you brought Pax inside with you. That’s a good thing. It’s hot, and shady spots outside are few and far between today.”

“I’m glad you’re okay with it,” she said. Looking directly at her, Sister Agatha continued. “I’m here to ask a favor. I’d like to take a look at Betsy Moore’s student records.”

“Betsy? She’s a good kid and bright too, one of our scholarship kids. But her mom’s a loon. Why are you interested?”

“I’d rather not say, but Patsy, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really important.”

“Okay, I’ll leave the matter between you and your conscience. The records are private, and open only to authorized school personnel. You’re on our substitute teacher list, so I’ll authorize your access. Remember, though, you can make notes, but we don’t allow copies to be made unless the parent requests that records be sent to another school.”

Patsy went to one of the cabinets in the adjacent office and, after a brief search, found the requested file and pulled it out. “You can use the conference room down the hall for as long you need. After you’re finished, just return the file to me. I’ll put it back.”

Sister Agatha walked to the other end of the administrative offices, Pax at her side. Making herself comfortable in the conference room, she began to study the records. The file was filled with information, but not the kind she needed. Betsy’s birth date was right, about six months after Celia had been sent away to Nazareth Hospital. There was also a date of issue on the birth certificate. New Mexico birth certificates normally didn’t include that. This indicated that a second birth certificate had been issued to the adoptive parent. But that still didn’t tell her who Betsy’s birth mother was. All the records here simply listed Ruth as the girl’s mother and Michael Moore as the father.

Disappointed, she leafed through the rest and found some notes on a recent student-parent-teacher conference. Ruth had refused to cooperate with Betsy’s teacher, accusing the woman of being lax in discipline and irresponsible. At one point, the report stated, Betsy had run out of the room crying.

Sister Agatha leaned back. How could anyone have changed so much? At the public high school they’d all attended in Bernalillo, Ruth had been voted the most likely to change the world. Now she was an embittered middle-aged woman who used God as a weapon.

“You look like your thoughts are miles away,” Lenora Martinez, the office secretary, said, coming into the room to place some files inside the cabinet in the corner.

“I was just thinking of an old friend, Ruth Moore. She’s changed so much! When we were growing up she was always upbeat and idealistic. She had so many plans for herself, but I think life twisted her dreams until they became nightmares and she’s become very disillusioned.”

“With what I know about Mrs. Moore now, it’s hard for me to sympathize with her. She’s made her daughter Betsy’s life as miserable as her own. Of course, since people confide in me all the time, I’ve learned that happens more often that we like to think,” Lenora said somberly. “Fortunately, things can turn around sometimes. You’ve got a good example of that right in your own monastery.”

“Excuse me?”

“Anita Linney … I mean Sister Mary Lazarus. Her marriage was a disaster, though she stuck to it for over ten or fifteen years, in perfect faith. After her husband passed away, she was finally free to follow her heart but, by then, it was too late for her and her first love to get together again. Lucky for her she found her calling. Otherwise, she might have ended up like Ruth, bitter and lonely.”

“I never knew about all that.”

“Well, I guess it was after your time. I mean they were at least four years behind you in high school. But it’s no great secret. Anita and Frank Walters were close in high school, but Frank didn’t want the responsibility of marriage, so she settled for second best. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out very well. After her husband died, she tried to rekindle the flame with Frank, I heard. But Frank’s still not the marrying sort. He never even married Joey’s mom.”

“Do you think Sister Mary Lazarus entered the monastery because she gave up on Frank?” If that was the case, Sister Agatha could finally understand why their novice had not found happiness at Our Lady of Hope. The monastery wasn’t for people running away from something. It only filled the hearts of those turning toward God.

“Honestly? I don’t know. There was a lot of gossip at the time, some of it just wild speculation that I didn’t want to listen to, but Sister Mary Lazarus and God are the only ones who know the truth for sure.”

After Lenora left, Sister Agatha stood up and went to the computer set up on a small cart against the wall. Using the monastery’s password, she checked diocesan records for Betsy’s birth, and then for her baptismal records, but both recorded only Ruth as Betsy’s mother.

She turned off the computer and leaned back in her seat. Something wasn’t right. But there was only one way to find out more, and that was to visit Nazareth Hospital in Albuquerque, less than forty minutes away. She knew a former nun who worked there now. Maybe Suzi would be able to help her.

Sister Agatha stood up, ready to return the file to Patsy, when Timothy Johnson came in with a note addressed to the school secretary.

“Hey, Sister Agatha. Whatcha working on?”

“Just looking for a few pieces of information,” she said vaguely, keeping Betsy’s file close to her so he couldn’t see the name on it.

“Is Pax with you?” he asked.

She gestured to the corner. Pax was lying underneath the air conditioner vent enjoying the cool breeze.

“Smart dog. It’s pretty hot out there today.”

“How’s the search for monkshood going?” she asked. Right now she needed to get him thinking like a team player. It would help her get him into the proper mind frame before she asked her next question.

“We haven’t found any more plants, Sister. But we haven’t given up.”

“If you do find a good stand of monkshood plants, especially if it looks like some have been cut back or pulled up, make sure you let me know right away. You can either call the monastery, or if it’s after parlor hours and you’re in the neighborhood, you can always leave a note in the turn.”

“The nun’s drive-up window?” Seeing her nod, he continued. “I’ve heard the kids use it to leave prayer requests.”

As she thought about it, she realized that they hadn’t received any requests lately. Like Mass attendance, requests had dropped considerably.

‘Timothy, I really need your help. Will you give me the name of the man who thought he was going to get Bobby Gonzales’s Harley—the one the monastery owns now?”

He looked around nervously. “Sister, you shouldn’t talk about that here. What if somebody comes in?”

“I give you my word that no one will ever know you told me. Look at it this way—if you can’t trust a nun, who can you trust?”

He hesitated. “Sister, I’ve heard this guy’s really bad news.”

“I’ll be careful, but I’ll be safer if I know who he is. Won’t you help me?”

He considered it for a long moment, looked around again, then selected a small piece of scrap paper and wrote something down on it “All right. It’s one of the names on this paper, but I need to be able to swear I didn’t tell you, so you’ll have to figure out which one it is for yourself. After you finish, destroy the paper. Don’t leave it here.”

She looked down at the paper. The first name on it was George Washington, the second St. Jude, and the third was Don Malcolm. She nodded, and wadded up the
paper
before placing it in her pocket.

He dropped his voice to a whisper. “He owns a pawnshop here in Bernalillo, and I heard somebody say once that he owns an adult book place, too.”

Sister Agatha had heard of Malcolm as well. He sometimes let farmers pawn items during drought years, when times were hard, then charged them excessive fees when they came to get their valuables back. Father Anselm had mentioned Don Malcolm to her a few times. One of his elderly parishioners had paid for her husband’s funeral with her diamond engagement ring, and Father had tried to get it back for her, but hadn’t been able to do so because of the high interest tacked on to the redemption fee.

“Thanks, Timothy.”

“I better get to class. You might want to burn that paper at the monastery with a candle, just to be on the safe side.”

On her way out, Sister Agatha stopped by Patsy Romero’s office and returned the file. After saying good-bye, she left the building with Pax by her side, and drove over to the rectory. She hoped Father Rick would be willing to give her some sort of authorization to go through the records at Nazareth Hospital so she wouldn’t have to ask her friend Suzi to bend the rules for her. And it wouldn’t hurt to get a little more information on the place before she actually approached anyone there. At the moment, all she knew was that it was a psychiatric facility.

As Pax left with Frances to the kitchen, she joined Father Rick who was in his office working on Sunday’s homily. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about Nazareth,” he explained in response to her request, “and I have no authority to permit you to access their records. But Father Thomas Mullins, the chaplain there, is a friend of mine. He may be able to tell you whatever you need. But I warn you—Father Thomas is a stickler for rules, so don’t expect him to cut corners for you.”

Unfortunately, that was exactly what she needed. “Thanks, Father Rick.”

Just as she was ready to leave, someone knocked on the front door. She glanced around and, not seeing Frances, decided to answer it herself.

“Sister Agatha! What are you doing here?”

Sister Agatha suddenly found herself face-to-face with Joan Sanchez, who was dressed much more conservatively than the last time they’d met. It was easy to see from Joan’s face that she hadn’t slept much lately. Sister Agatha thought of Reverend Mother, who had shown signs of the same affliction. Father Anselm’s death was sparing no one.

“Is Father Rick around?”

“Yes. Come in,” she invited, then showed her to the couch. “Joan, are you all right?” she asked softly.

Tears immediately filled the woman’s eyes, and she clutched her small purse so tightly her knuckles turned white. “No. I’m in a mess, Sister. People are saying that I killed Father Anselm. Father was the only person who was ever kind to me in this petty little town. Why would anyone think I would hurt him?”

“One of the things that small towns excel at is gossip. It’ll die down. Don’t worry.”

“But Sheriff Green thinks I’m guilty, too. He keeps coming around, asking questions about Father Anselm and me.”

“Don’t take it personally. We’re all getting questions from him these days. He’s just doing his job—trying to piece everything together so he can figure out what really happened.” Charity demanded that she keep her thoughts to herself, but it was a tremendous relief for her to find out that Tom was still looking outside the monastery for answers.

Joan looked at Sister Agatha. “The thing is that I want to move and start out fresh someplace, but the sheriff’s told me not to leave town. As long as I’m a suspect, it could look bad for me. Can you talk to him? I’m not guilty of anything. I shouldn’t be treated like a criminal.”

“All he wants is to find whoever killed Father Anselm. My talking to him on your behalf won’t help you. He’ll just see it as interference. If you feel you’re not being treated fairly, talk to him about it face-to-face. Asking someone to speak on your behalf is likely to make him more suspicious. I know Sheriff Green. When he’s working, he can come across as very cold and impersonal, but his heart is in the right place.”

Father came in just then, and Joan repeated her request, asking him to help her.

“I can’t. That’s a police matter, not Church business,” Father Rick said gently. “Perhaps you need to consult an attorney, who would know more about these matters than I do.”

She stood up abruptly. “I should have known this was a waste of time. Both of you think I killed Father Anselm, too. Well, fine. Be that way.”

Joan stormed out, leaving the door wide open before either Father or Sister could say a word.

“That went well,” Father said, his wry smile softening his sarcasm as a car roared down the drive.

“She’ll calm down,” Sister said, closing the door. “And if she asks anyone else who knows Sheriff Green, they’ll tell her the same thing I did.”

“If she’d asked me for anything else, I would have done my best to help her, but I can’t tell the sheriff how to do his job. As it is, I’m going to be on shaky ground when I meet with him tomorrow. The question I need answered may be privileged information, but I’d really like to know if he thinks Father Anselm’s murder was a crime committed against him specifically, or if it was motivated by what he stood for. I can take care of myself, mind you, but there are a lot of people that I come in contact with, such as the housekeeper, altar boys, the choir, and all the parishioners. I wouldn’t want to see anyone else end up as a victim if there’s an attack on me.

“I know you must be worried because you’re replacing someone who was murdered,” she said softly, her heart going out to him. “But all the sisters will be keeping you in their prayers.”