Bad Faith (8 page)

As quickly as the thought came she pushed it back. Envy was a sin—and green had never done much for her anyway.

Bowing to them, she left the nuns to their work and went to find the dog, who was resting in the shade of the building now.

She checked the dog’s underside, something the animal was perfectly happy to let her do, providing she scratched his belly while she was at it. She found nothing there. She then checked his ears, and near the top of the right ear, on the inside, she found a number. She wrote it down on a piece of paper and hurried back to the parlor.

“You were right. What we’ve got here is a working dog,” Sister Agatha said. “I know the sheriff’s department has a canine unit, since their officers often patrol alone,” Sister Agatha said, “but this dog doesn’t seem to have the right temperament for a guard dog.”

“You can never tell,” Sister Bernarda said. “Those dogs, from what I recall of the ones in the military, can be perfectly nice—until the right command is given.”

“What’s the command?”

“It depends. It can be anything from a foreign word to a simple English ‘get him.’ “

After two transfers by the switchboard at the sheriff’s office, a deputy in the canine unit answered the phone. Sister Agatha described the dog who had found her, and the deputy replied immediately. “We’ve been looking all over the place for him. I didn’t know he was missing until I went out to give him breakfast. He dug a hole beneath his kennel sometime after lights-out and got out. But how did he get into the monastery? I thought your gate was closed and locked at night.”

“All I can tell you is that he ended up in my cell—my room—this morning.”

“We’ll send someone to get him. And don’t worry. He’s really mellow. One of the reasons we’ve been thinking of retiring him is because he no longer shows the aggression we need in police dogs. He’s too smart, and knows that his training is only a game, so he refuses to attack—even if we give him the right command.”

“Is that command a word someone here might mistakenly use?”

“No, Sister. Not unless you speak German.”

“Okay.” She paused, then added, “What happens to the dogs when they’re retired?”

“We usually try to find a home for them, but if that doesn’t work out, we euthanize them.” The deputy spoke to someone else in the room, then came back to the phone. “I’ll pick him up in about an hour. Is that okay?”

“He’ll be waiting,” Sister Agatha answered, suddenly wishing she didn’t have to give the dog back. He’d come to them and it didn’t seem right to turn him out. Besides, he was such a nice dog. He deserved a place where he’d be more appreciated. She’d have to pray that he found the perfect home.

After teaching her morning class for the novice and postulant, Sister Agatha went back to relieve Sister Bernarda in the parlor.

“I’ll take over for you now so you can get some work done in the scriptorium,” Sister Agatha said. “Deadline on those projects isn’t far away now.”

“This just came in for you,” Sister Bernarda said, and handed her a message. “It’s from Mrs. Williams at the rectory. She was very eager to talk to you. She said it was urgent.”

Sister Agatha called the rectory housekeeper as Sister Bernarda left to go to her next duty post.

“Frances, this is Sister Agatha. What can I do for you?”

“I need to speak to you, Sister—face-to-face, not over the phone. Father Mahoney, our temporary pastor, has been delayed, so I can’t discuss this with him, and I don’t know what to do. You see, I remembered something concerning Father Anselm that I think may be important. But I don’t feel right telling the police about it, at least not yet.” She sighed loudly. “It’s complicated.”

“All right. Wait for me. I’ll be there shortly.”

S
ister Agatha went to the scriptorium to find Sister Bernarda, and was surprised to find Frank Walters there, too, though the local businessman had been granted a dispensation by the archbishop to enter the enclosure and help them maintain the scriptorium hardware. Mr. Walters was tall and in his early forties, with thinning brown hair that was liberally streaked with gray. He’d probably been a bit of a ladies’ man in his twenties, and had aged well. But he had never shown any disrespect by flirting with any of the sisters, and was always quite pleasant.

“Hello, Sister Agatha.” Frank stood when he saw her enter. “My condolences for the loss of Father Anselm. It was such a shock for all of us who were here when he … died. He’ll be missed.”

“Father is in heaven Mr. Walters. We’ll all miss him, but he’s in a better place now.” Sister Agatha went quiet for a few moments thinking about Father Anselm as she watched Frank Walters work “What’s the problem with our computers today?”

“Nothing that a
cooler work space wouldn’t solve.” He shrugged. “Actually, I’d come by to offer a prayer and show my respect for Father Anselm, and thought I’d do some routine maintenance on the computers while I was here. I figured the recent crisis might have slowed down your work, and now you’ll be needing the computers to work at peak efficiency,As soon as I defrag the files and do a diagnostics check, I’ll be on my way.”

Sister Agatha smiled. “We appreciate all you do for our monastery.”

“I’m glad to help.” Frank turned back to the computer monitor, which had beeped a prompt.

Sister Agatha turned to Sister Bernarda, who had been busy at one of the other computers. “Your Charity, I have to go into town. I’m needed at the rectory. Mrs. Williams has a problem.”

“That’s all right,” Sister Bernarda said. “But you and I will have to put in extra hours later to catch up in here. I’m really behind now. Mr. Walter’s guess was right on target.”

“We’ll manage. Reverend Mother has said we can recruit Celia and Sister Mary Lazarus to help us whenever we need, though you and I will have to choose appropriate projects for them to work on.”

“That’s fine, but I still wouldn’t want to leave them in here completely unsupervised.”

“Let’s work that out one step at a time,” Sister Agatha said, taking a deep breath. “My first priority now is finding a way to clear everyone here of complicity in Father Anselm’s death. This monastery needs to have its peace restored.”

Sister Bernarda resumed portress duties from the scriptorium, something that was possible thanks to the scriptorium windows and the fact their phone had a loud ringer, and Sister Agatha headed to the rectory in town. She followed the required route that took her a short drive east to Highway 313, part of the historic trade route known as the Camino Real, or Royal Road, then south to Bernalillo. With the motorcycle in such excellent condition, the trip took much less time than it would have limping along in the station wagon.

Sister Agatha loved the scent of the freshly mowed hay she passed, and the roar of the Harley and the feel of the wind whistling past her helmet. “ ‘Make a joyful noise unto the Lord,’ “ she said under her breath with a happy smile. The motorcycle was surely a gift from God, and such gifts were meant to be enjoyed.

By the time she arrived at the rectory, she felt in much better spirits. As she shut off the engine, Frances came outside to meet her. “Sister, I’m so glad you’re here.”

The cool air-conditioned rectory, in contrast to the hundred-degree heat outside, seemed like a blessing all its own. They sat in the living room, where Frances offered Sister Agatha a glass of lemonade. “Thank you for coming, Sister. My loyalty is to this parish, and I want to avoid a scandal, but with the sheriff involved I don’t know how much I should say.”

“About what?” Sister Agatha asked, curiosity piqued.

“Do you know Joan Sanchez, one of our parishioners?”

Sister Agatha nodded. “She’s a friend of Anne Gellar’s, isn’t she? I think she’s the one who drives Anne to Mass every day.”

“Yes, that’s her. Mrs. Sanchez’s husband died a few months ago, and she hasn’t been quite right since. She used to come around here a lot to talk to Father. And I do mean
a lot.
For a while there, she became almost like a stalker. Wherever Father was, she was, and if she wasn’t here, she’d be busy calling the rectory. It was constant.”

“Did Father ever say anything to you about that?”

“Oh, of course not! He wasn’t one to complain. But Mrs. Sanchez called so frequently that Father started asking me to take messages so he wouldn’t have to speak to her so often. He’d
never
done that before.”

“And you haven’t told the police that yet?”

“I was planning to ask Father Mahoney if I should—I mean, I don’t think Mrs. Sanchez had anything to do with Father’s death. But now Father Mahoney’s been delayed and I don’t know what to do. It may be several days before he gets here, I’m told.”

She thought of the nuns at the monastery. To some, going without daily mass was nearly unthinkable. “I think the archbishop’s office needs to be reminded how much the sisters need their chaplain,” she said softly.

“I’ll take care of that for you, Sister. I need to call them anyway on a matter concerning this month’s bills. But what should I do about Mrs. Sanchez? I don’t want to suggest anything about Father Anselm that may give rise to some nasty gossip.”

“My advice is to tell the sheriff, but stick only to the facts you know. For example, don’t offer any conclusions or speculations, such as a stalking. Just explain about the calls and visits, and that after a while Father started avoiding Mrs. Sanchez’s calls. Tell them about the specific instances when you saw her appear at functions where Father was present. No one could fault you for that.”

“But that’s still going to make her a suspect. What if she’s totally innocent? A woman who’s gone through the death of her husband might be fragile mentally. If the sheriff and his people start making harsh accusations, it just might push that poor woman over the edge.”

“Then explain that to them, just the way you did to me. But you can’t keep this from them. You’d be withholding information, and they’ll take a very dim view of that once they find out—and they
will
find out. You know how gossip travels back and forth in this community.”

“I suppose you’re right. I’ll call Sheriff Green.”

“Good. And if you need me again, just call.”

As Sister Agatha drove back up the valley to the monastery, she found her mind racing with questions and possibilities. Maybe Joan had felt Father had rejected her by not giving her more of his time. Or maybe she’d fallen in love with Father and, by keeping her at a distance, Father had turned her into a dangerous enemy. Of course it was all speculation at this point. She’d need to dig deeper.

As she drove through the monastery gates, she saw Sheriff Green walking around the tall adobe and stucco-coated wall that bordered the grounds. The white German shepherd was at his side.

She pulled to a stop, took off her helmet, and walked over to talk to him. “Is everything all right?”

“Something occurred to me when I came to pick up Rex,” Tom said.

“Oh, so that’s his name!” She bent down to scratch him behind the ears and the dog cocked his head contentedly. “Good boy, Rex.” She glanced up at Tom. “So, let me guess. You were thinking that if Rex found a way into the monastery, maybe a human could have done the same thing?”

“Exactly. Someone poisoned the priest, and it most likely happened here. My experts say that symptoms began almost immediately, and no one observed any such symptoms when the priest first arrived. That means it was either one of the nuns or an intruder who set things up and slipped back out unnoticed.”

“Have you had any luck finding out how Rex got in?”

He shook his head. “I searched around the outside for paw prints, but I couldn’t find anything except for scattered rabbit and bird tracks, plus some from smaller animals, perhaps a prairie dog or two. Then I checked the gate. When it’s closed and padlocked, it’s impossible for anything larger than a squirrel to squeeze through. So then I started looking for holes under the wall, or in the wall itself. Of course, during the day the gates are open and anyone could have waltzed in here. But I’m thinking that once the nuns are up and about, it would be hard for an intruder to remain undetected.”

“You’re right. Rex couldn’t have hidden for long after all of us were up.”

“The wall is over eight feet high and so are the gates, so I’m certain the dog didn’t jump over,” Sheriff Green said.

“I have an idea. Take the leash off him and see where he goes.”

“All right. He’s trained to recall on command so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Tom did as she suggested, but Rex sat beside him at heel.

The sheriff shook his head. “When he’s with a cop, he’s working, and he knows it. He’s been too well trained.”

“Well, let me try. Put him back on the leash. I’ll lead him away and let’s see what he does then.”

“All right.”

Sister Agatha led Rex to the middle of the garden, took him off the leash, then threw a stick for him to retrieve. The dog enjoyed fetching the stick, and Sister Agatha enjoyed the simple game. But after a few more throws, she crouched down, petted the dog, and walked away a short distance, then turned to observe. The dog sniffed the ground and wandered around, once or twice jumping up trying to catch a butterfly, but he clearly had no particular interest in any specific location.

“This is a waste of time,” Sheriff Green said at last, snapping the leash back on the dog. “He’s just playing. If he remembers where he came in, he’s not about to clue us in, and he certainly doesn’t have to leave that way now with the gate open.”

She continued walking with him, inspecting the adobe wall as they circled the monastery grounds on the inside. “The gates are securely locked for the night after Vespers, a little before six. Then there’s dinner, recreation, and the last office—Compline. After that is the Great Silence, but the nuns still go about freely, in and out of the building, finishing personal chores and the like before bed. I can practically guarantee that Rex wasn’t here then.”

“I know he wasn’t. My deputy said that the dog was in his kennel at ten
P.M.
when he went by to check on him.”

“Where does the deputy live? How did Rex find this place?”

“Our handler, Ralph Ortiz, is from San Felipe Pueblo. He lives down by the highway, not three miles from here.”

“So Rex had a pretty good walk, but one that’s well within his capabilities. I wonder why he went this way down the road instead of south or east?” Sister Agatha asked.

“Maybe he smelled the river, further west. He’s gotten out before, and gone elsewhere.”

“I’d give anything to find out how he got into my room,” Sister Agatha said.

“Do you have a window?”

“A small one, but there’s a bigger one down the hall. We considered the possibility he came in through that window, but that still doesn’t explain how he got into the compound in the first place.”

“True.” A cream-colored sporty-looking sedan pulled up outside the monastery gate, stopped, and a tall, leggy blond woman in tight clothing stepped out. Sheriff Green exhaled softly, then waved, and the woman waved back.

“A friend of yours?” Sister Agatha noted that the sheriff’s face had become set and flushed. Something about the woman’s appearance had turned his mood sour.

“My wife, Gloria. I was supposed to meet her for lunch. I guess she found out where I was and came to remind me.”

“We went to high school with a girl named Gloria Anderson. But her hair was brown. That isn’t her, is it?” Sister Agatha smiled, remembering how Gloria had flirted with Tom for months, and had been quite jealous of the relationship he had shared with her their senior year in high school.

“The very same. She’s a blonde now. She chased me until I caught her, Gloria likes to say,” Tom joked halfheartedly.

“I’ll have to visit with her again sometime and catch up on our school years.”

“Yes.” Tom looked at his wife, and she waved again. He waved back even less enthusiastically this time.

The silence became awkward for a moment, then Sister Agatha finally spoke. “Well, I’m glad you’re considering the possibility of an intruder. Hopefully you’ll soon rule out the sisters as suspects entirely.”

His expression suddenly became cold. “Don’t jump to conclusions. You, Sister Mary Lazarus, and that postulant, Celia, are still very much suspects, and so are the parishioners who were here for Mass. And, just so you know, what I personally think doesn’t matter. The evidence is the only thing that does.”

“I think you’re going to be getting some news that will lead you away from our order soon,” she said.

His gaze narrowed. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

She hesitated. This was information she wanted him to get directly from Frances. Then she heard the beep of a car horn and saw Tom turn to glance at his wife, anger flashing in his eyes.

Before she could speak, the bells began to ring for Sext, the midday prayer. She saw that as the perfect opportunity to duck his question. And, from the looks of it, he also needed a chance to square things with his wife. “We’ll talk later. I have to go now.” With any luck, he wouldn’t know that ex-terns were excused from chanting the Divine Office with the choir nuns.

“Where? I thought the chapel was closed.”

“Yes, but the grounds aren’t. That’s where we’ll meet to chant the Divine Office.”

“You’re not getting off the hook that easy. I need to know what you’ve heard.”

“You’ll find out soon, I promise.”

As she headed back toward the building where the sisters were gathering, Tom walked quickly to his car. Sister Agatha took one look back at her old friend’s wife outside the gate. Gloria was leaning against the car now, and even at this distance, Gloria’s body language implied that she was upset.

Focusing on her own duties, Sister Agatha hurried to meet the sisters. Divine Office was a time when the monastery’s song was said to join that of the angels who, in the presence of God, eternally sang praises to him. Sharing that with her sisters in Christ would strengthen her now that everything they valued was being challenged.