Bad Samaritan (18 page)

“It's okay, Sister. It's just me,” Frances said. “Your habit tore loose at the seam, but it shouldn't be too hard to repair. Let's you and I go back to the rectory, and I can help you with that and maybe put some ice on that shoulder of yours. In the meantime, we can pin it up,” she said, reaching into her purse for some safety pins. “There you go. Not pretty, but it'll do. Good thing I always carry safety pins around. They've come in handy many times, I'll tell you.”

Less than ten minutes later, after a short motorcycle ride, Sister Agatha and Pax entered the rectory. Frances, who'd made all the traffic lights, handed her an ice pack made from a freezer bag as they went through the kitchen door.

Although the ache had already subsided, Sister Agatha placed the ice bag on the sore spot.

Frances motioned them into the study. At the table was a needle and a spool of thread. “You can undress in Father's office and fix that torn seam yourself in private, or you can keep that ice on your shoulder and I'll do my best to sew it up,” she said. “I'm not a very good seamstress, mind you, but I can make it stay in place.”

“It's okay. I'll fix it. That softball just winged me anyway. I'd rather you look after Pax and give him some water. Though the sun's almost down, it's still hot outside.”

“Here in the desert the temperature can drop forty degrees or more at night, but today it seems to be taking its time.”

Sister Agatha undressed in Father's office, first taking off her belt, the cincture. Its three knots symbolized their vows—poverty, chastity, and obedience. She then slipped out of her cross-form serge habit, remaining in her long cotton slip. The bruise on her shoulder was visible but only a little tender now, so she ignored the injury and mended her sleeve. As she worked on the repair, she gave some more thought to everything she'd learned. If nothing else, it had been a very interesting day.

A short time later, she met with Frances in the kitchen and was greeted with a glass of iced tea. Pax was stretched out on the cold tile floor.

“How's the shoulder?” Frances asked, taking the plastic bag Sister Agatha handed her.

“Just a bruise. I'm glad it was a softball.”

“Me, too.”

“Frances, what can you tell me about Robert Garcia?” she asked, making herself comfortable at the kitchen table.

“I
knew
you were going to ask me that. Everyone knows that you've been looking into the case and giving the Garcias fits,” she said, chuckling. “Sister, you get yourself in more trouble—” She stopped speaking abruptly, her eyes growing wide. “Wait one darned minute. When Mike Herrera cut loose with that wild throw . . . that
was
an accident, wasn't it?”

“I'm sure it was,” Sister Agatha said confidently, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt—publicly, at least. “But getting back to Robert . . .”

“Outside his public image, I barely knew him, Sister, so I can't tell you much. I know he always came to ten o'clock Mass on Sundays, 'cause that's the service I attend. He also contributed
generously when we needed funds to repair the roof. He was a good man as far as I know—well, other than when he was stirring up trouble at a softball game.” She paused, then, after several moments, added, “I've always wondered what things were really like at home for his family.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Have you ever met Isabel Cordova, Sister?”

Sister Agatha thought about it, then shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“She used to work as a housekeeper and nanny for Victoria and Robert. Isabel lived with her mother, next door to me, and that's how I got to know her. Isabel's dream was to run Del Sol Stables—the Garcia clan's horse farm. The problem was that Isabel didn't have the experience and training to do much more than muck out the stalls. Then one day, out of the blue, she became the Garcias' stable manager.”

“What changed?”

“Beats me, but from what I've heard, she gets paid a lot more than the old stable manager, Dusty Brown, ever did. Isabel was also given some land adjacent to the horse farm and enough cash to be able to build her own house there. These days, Izzie drives a fancy truck and flashes a lot of silver and turquoise jewelry.”

“Did the old stable manager stay with the Garcias?”

“Dusty's still there, but I'm told that's only until he finds a new job.”

“It sounds like the Garcias paid her off . . . but for what?” Sister Agatha mused. “Was she having an affair with Robert, or was it something else?”

“Definitely
not
an affair. Isabel's interests don't include men, so it has to be for other reasons. There's been lots of speculation about this, but Isabel's not talking.”

“Thanks for the tip, Frances.”

“Don't make me regret it, Sister. You stay out of trouble, you hear?” Frances said, walking her and Pax to the door.

Taking the long way home, Sister Agatha made it a point to go past Del Sol Stables. It was nearly 9:00
P.M.
, and the sun had set a half hour ago, but there were still half a dozen trucks parked there.

Sister Agatha drove up the long driveway and parked near the stable, a long line of stalls on both sides of an enormous barn. Past the far end of the building, on the other side, was a large circular corral. A man was busy there working a young horse on a lunge rein. Pax, eyes focused on the large animal trotting in a circle, strained at the leash.

“Don't you dare act up. You hear me, Pax?”

The dog never looked at her.

“Pax!”

The dog turned around, looked at her, and whined.

“No chasing
anything,
” she said, knowing that Pax loved to go after whatever ran from him. Horses, more often than not, were a huge temptation.

Rather than risk interrupting the trainer, Sister Agatha turned away from the arena and headed across soft ground toward an adobe-style casita near the stables. The hand-carved sign over the door read
OFFICE
.

As she drew near, a young woman coming out of the doorway smiled. “Hello, Sister. I'm Natalie Granger. Can I help you?”

“I'm looking for Isabel Cordova—the stable manager?”

“She's not here right now. She usually quits early, but sometimes she returns in the evening to work her mare. Do you want to wait and see if she comes by, or can someone else help you?”

“How about Dusty Brown? Is he here?”

“Dusty's always here,” she said with a smile. “Right now he's helping one of the grooms with a Clydesdale we're stabling for a client. Come on. I'll take you there.”

Natalie led the way through the stable. At the end, near one of the stalls, was an enormous horse. He dwarfed the two men grooming him.

“Sister's here to see you, Dusty,” Natalie said, looking at the man holding up one of the animal's legs.

“That's the biggest horse I've ever seen,” Sister Agatha whispered.

“Hugo's eighteen hands—that's six feet at the shoulder. He weighs close to twenty-five hundred pounds,” Dusty told her as he showed the groom how to polish the hooves. “Give me another minute, Sister, and I'll be right with you. This guy's a handful when he wants to be.”

Sister Agatha stayed well back. Anything that large demanded—and received—her respect. Even Pax was sitting very still and not making a sound.

Once assured that the groom could handle his large charge, Dusty came to meet her.

“I'm Dusty, Sister,” he said, wiping his hand on a rag and offering to shake hands. “How can I help you?”

“Can we talk privately for a few moments?”

“Of course.” The old cowboy was in his early seventies. His roughened complexion and wrinkled hands attested to long hours in the sun and a lifetime of hard work. Yet, though he stooped a little at the shoulders, he moved with the confidence and fluidity of a much younger man.

As they entered a small office at the end of the barn, opposite an empty stall, he waved to an empty chair. “Make yourself at home. I've heard what you're up to, Sister, and I'll be glad to help you in any way I can,” he said, closing the door behind
them. “The Garcias think they own this town, but they don't. Money buys power—but not loyalty.”

“You're no fan of the Garcias, I take it?”

He took a seat across from her behind an old, worn wooden desk. “Time was when I respected that family, but they took advantage of me. I was hired to manage this stable and take care of their animals in exchange for a base salary and the opportunity to build my own home and arena on that west side property over there.”

He cocked his head in the direction of Isabel's house, then lapsed into a long silence as he stared across the room.

“What happened?” Sister Agatha prodded.

“I was a fool. There was no written contract or agreement, just a handshake between Robert and me. That used to be more than enough around these parts, and it never occurred to me to doubt the word of a Garcia.” He shook his head slowly. “Then one day out of the blue Robert brought Isabel Cordova in and gave her my job. That girl had no experience whatsoever, but Robert stuck with her. He told me to answer any questions she had. And the section of land I was going to get—that's where her new house is being built.”

“You should have taken Mr. Garcia to court. Didn't Robert at least have the decency to offer you a different parcel of land?”

“Yeah, he did that. It was some mountain property so steep you'd have to build on stilts or take out half the hillside. It was a terrible place to raise horses, too, even if you could sink a well. I got cheated—pure and simple. I'm selling it as soon as I can find a buyer. It's not exactly the type of location that people go wild for. No water, no well, and only one bad road into the property.”

“I'm so sorry—but why are you still working for the Garcias?”

“I couldn't afford to just walk out. At my age, jobs can be hard to find. Experience still counts for something, though, and
I've found a new position. I'm leaving at the end of this week and heading to Scottsdale. I'll be giving trail rides at a high-end dude ranch.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “That job's a lifesaver for me. Isabel will be named the new owner of Del Sol by the end of this year, and there was no way I would have stuck around after that.”

“Did Robert give you a reason why Isabel got your job?” Sister Agatha asked.

He shook his head. “Robert never explained himself—on anything—but I managed to put it together. A buddy of mine, Paul Mathis, has a landscaping business, and Robert's one of his customers. Paul told me he was working on Robert and Victoria's sprinkler system one morning when he overheard them having a real knock-down, drag-out. He stays out of family disputes, so he just kept working. Then a cast-iron bookend came flying out the window, shattering the glass into a million pieces. He heard Victoria scream, so he rushed inside through the back door to see if he could help, or maybe call the police.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Paul found Victoria in the kitchen, completely hysterical, broken things all over the place. Isabel was sitting on the tile floor, bleeding like a stuck pig from a gash on the back of her head.”

“What happened? Did Isabel get caught up in the cross fire?” Sister Agatha asked.

“That's what Paul figured. According to him, Robert calmed everyone down, called a doctor friend of his, and got Izzie sewed up. A few days after that, Izzie came over here, all bandaged up. When I asked her who'd hit her with the bookend, Robert or Victoria, she told me to mind my own business.”

“Interesting,” Sister Agatha said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, particularly when you take into account that it all happened around the same time that Robert announced his plans to
run for sheriff. The way I see it, he obviously didn't want the incident made public, so he paid Isabel off.”

He shook his head, then, in a voice filled with disgust, added, “Iz struck the mother lode when she got slammed in the head that day. All things considered, I wouldn't rule out the possibility that she stepped in the way on purpose, figuring there'd be dollar signs in it.”

Sister Agatha stood and followed him to the door. “I wish you the best of luck, Dusty,” she said, “and thank you for helping me tonight.”

Before she could grab the door handle, the man she'd seen grooming Hugo earlier came rushing in. “We've got a horse with colic—Isabel's mare. I've called the vet.”

“Better call Isabel, too, Ben.” Dusty hurried past Sister Agatha. “I've got to deal with this emergency, Sister.”

Sister Agatha walked out with Pax. When she reached the cycle, she saw a large midnight blue truck parked beside it.

Pax had just jumped into the sidecar when a tall, thin woman in her midthirties stepped out from the far side of the pickup.

“The minute I saw the motorcycle, I knew you were here asking questions,” she said in a soft voice. “Don't make trouble, Sister Agatha. I've done nothing wrong.”

“So it's true—how you got this job. What really happened that day at the Garcias'?” Sister Agatha asked. “I'm not the police. You can trust me.”

“Sister, I now have everything I've ever wanted. That's what comes from making the most out of each and every opportunity—and keeping my mouth shut.”

“The path you've chosen will never bring you peace of mind. It carries a price—whether or not you realize it.”

“Everything carries a price, Sister, but I like where I am.”

“I already know most of the story, but I'd like to hear your side of it,” Sister Agatha insisted.

“My luck's finally changed, Sister, and I'm not going to let you ruin things for me. There's nothing here for you. Go home.”

Sister Agatha was about to answer when Isabel's phone rang. She flipped it open, listened for a moment, then hung up. “My horse needs me. I've got to go. I suggest you do the same.”