Bad Samaritan (6 page)

“Or else? From your tone, I guess you've heard the gossip,” Chuck said. “Whether she enjoys it or not, Victoria always accompanies her husband when he's campaigning—but only she knows how bossy he really is at home.”

Sister Agatha looked at a second photo, obviously taken before Victoria knew someone was taking snapshots. In that unguarded moment, the way Victoria was looking at Robert revealed much about their relationship.

Love and hate . . . opposite sides of the same coin. Maybe that explained Victoria's feelings for her husband. Love for what was right—a son, a fine home, social status and prestige. Hate, too—for broken dreams and a loveless marriage? Like everything else in life, emotions were seldom clear-cut.

Studying Victoria's crisp pantsuit and her expensive gold
necklace, Sister Agatha wondered just how much worldly goods and financial security mattered to the woman.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Money seemed at the center of everyone's troubles these days—whether from too much or too little, though she imagined that too much would make the troubles easier to face. Her thoughts drifted to the situation facing Our Lady of Hope. Although she was deeply ashamed of herself, the truth was she was angry with God for abandoning them. Suddenly realizing the turn her thoughts had taken, Sister Agatha brought them to a screeching halt. They were His servants and would go wherever He asked.

“You're a million miles away,” Chuck observed.

“Just trying to put things into perspective.” At that moment Chuck's cell phone rang, sparing her any further explanation.

Chuck answered the call, then listened to the caller for fifteen seconds. “Who else is there now?” he snapped, his tone all business. “What about Victoria? Have you seen her?” There was another pause before he said, “I'm on my way.”

“What's happening?” Sister Agatha asked. “Anything I'd be interested in?”

“Half the town's shown up at Mayor Garcia's home. Victoria's apparently staying there with him and his wife, Alyssa, and word got around. Neighbors, relatives, and friends of the family are paying their respects—bringing food, flowers, and condolences—the
pésame,
as they say around here.”

“Those things go on for hours. I should drop by, too,” Sister Agatha said, then, after a beat, added, “But not without Sister Bernarda.”

Chuck smiled. “Makes sense. Mayor Garcia is a marine, and so's Sister B.”

“There's that, and also the fact that the mayor is going to know soon enough that I'm looking into this case on the sheriff's
behalf,” she answered and stood. “Let's go, boy.” Sister Agatha attached Pax's leash, then walked out with the dog just ahead of Chuck.

“JD
wants
the sheriff to be guilty. That's going to make things real interesting for both you and Sheriff Green.”

Chuck had spoken softly, almost under his breath, but the warning was clear. Worst of all, she knew it was the truth. Tom and she were both in for a major battle.

Once Sister Agatha arrived at the monastery, she joined the sisters at the refectory for their main meal of the day, served promptly at 1:00
P.M.
Sister Maria Victoria was reading from the Martyrology that detailed the ultimate sacrifices made by the saints for the love of God. Hearing about their travails could curtail even a healthy person's appetite, but that wasn't a problem for Sister Agatha today. She was famished.

As she ate the broccoli and corn casserole that Sister Clothilde had lovingly prepared and left frozen, ready to reheat, she remembered the older nun with fondness. Until her departure, Sister Clothilde had been an integral part of daily life at Our Lady of Hope Monastery.

Now, the monastery was in a state of suspension. Their peace was an uneasy one—the quiet before the storm of upheaval struck.

As Sister Agatha glanced around the room, she saw that Sister Eugenia's worried gaze was focused exclusively on Reverend Mother. Their prioress looked worn-out and frail, a result of the constant pressure she'd battled this past year. Too many bills, not enough donations. Although their lifestyle was simple, costs had soared, and their funds were barely sufficient to cover basic needs.

As Sister Agatha tried to push back the darkness that burdened her soul, her gaze fastened on Sister Ignatius, whose face mirrored only peace. Even now her faith hadn't wavered. In trying times, she was a lesson to all of them. Though her prayers never went unanswered, she hadn't asked the Lord to keep their monastery open. She'd only prayed that they'd be given the strength to accept His holy will, and asked that His angels camp around them and keep them safe.

After their meal, Sister Bernarda met Sister Agatha in the corridor. “I spoke to Reverend Mother, and she has given me permission to go with you to pay our condolences to Mrs. Garcia.”

“Good,” Sister Agatha said. “I doubt that the mayor will be pleased to see me, but if both of us are there, it'll defuse the situation and give me a chance to talk to a few people.”

They were on their way in the Antichrysler moments later, Sister Bernarda at the wheel. This time Pax had to remain behind. Unhappy about that decision, he raced after the car. True to his training, however, he came to a sudden stop at the gate and stared mournfully at them as they continued down the dusty road.

“Sister Gertrude e-mailed us this morning. She can't wait to see Pax again,” Sister Bernarda said.

Sister Agatha shifted the box of cookies she held on her lap as she turned toward her companion. “How are our other sisters doing up at Agnus Dei? Have you heard?”

“They're settling in. Agnus Dei's horarium is identical to ours, so not having to adjust to a new daily schedule is helping them feel more at home. Everything's working out.” Sister Bernarda paused, then added, “I think we've been worrying over nothing. It's not as if we're losing our home.”

“Aren't we?” Sister Agatha asked her, surprised.

“No, our
real
home is in God, and He can't be taken from us. The monastery's just a building,” she answered, turning onto the highway.

“Is it really so easy for you to start anew someplace else?” Sister Agatha whispered.

Sister Bernarda hesitated, then, in a slow voice, answered, “No, but it's a matter of duty. Honoring that requires us to follow where He leads.” Sister Bernarda pulled to the right to allow a faster-moving vehicle to pass.

Sister Agatha stared out the window, lost in thought. Although she knew that Sister Bernarda was right, the prospect of leaving Our Lady of Hope was still heartbreaking to her.

Twenty minutes later, they entered a long asphalt driveway that led to Mayor Garcia's home. Vehicles were parked almost everywhere. People in their Sunday best could be seen walking toward the house with flowers or food containers, and others were returning to their cars, having ended their courtesy calls.

The sprawling ranch-style home was surrounded by an enormous lawn, and the circular drive had a large fountain in its center. Though vehicles lined both the inside and outside curbs, Sister Bernarda saw a driver pulling out and was able to slip into the vacated place.

Once they'd stepped out of the car, Sister Agatha glanced across the hood at Sister Bernarda. “After I present the Cloister Cluster Cookies to whomever is accepting the food, I'm going to stay in the background as much as I can. I'll track you down when it's time for us to go.”

“Roger that,” she said, in her best Marine Corps bark.

Sister Bernarda's stride was purposeful and steady as she made her way through the foyer into the spacious kitchen/family room. Flowers of every variety and color rested atop nearly all the flat surfaces. There must have been a hundred people at the
house, most of them gathered in small groups and speaking in hushed tones. The majority of them had either a cup or a plate of food in their hands. Three women in white coats stood behind the black marble breakfast counter, helping serve food to the guests.

True to her word, Sister Agatha took an offered cup of tea, then hung back, getting close enough to each group to get the gist of their conversation before moving on to the next. There was one overriding theme—Robert's sudden and unexpected death—and nearly unanimous agreement that the sheriff was guilty of his murder.

One woman, whom Sister Agatha recognized as a florist, briefly floated the theory that Robert had struck the sheriff, then committed suicide. Her companions quickly squashed that by calling for a motive the florist couldn't produce.

Moving on, Sister Agatha heard the name Mike being called by a young man standing next to the open French doors. In response, a twenty-something man next to the mayor moved across the room. Sister Agatha made her way toward him and soon was standing beside a floor lamp near the corner of a seating area, close enough to eavesdrop.

“There's no way Green is going to get away with this, bro,” Mike said. “My father-in-law's out for blood.”

Sister Agatha smiled. Her guess had been right. This was Mike Herrera.

“From what I've heard, it was self-defense,” the other one said. “If someone came up and clubbed you across the skull, you'd fight back, wouldn't ya? I can understand that Robert was a relative, and you have to look after family and all, but Green was just protecting himself. The mayor needs to face facts and move on.”

“Green and my father-in-law have a history. JD doesn't like anyone who disrespects the Garcias, and Robert and the sheriff
have been in each other's faces for years now. I've got a feeling that there's a lot more to it than I've been told. I'm not very tight with JD, in case you haven't noticed. There's no way I'll ever be considered part of the Garcia family. Hell, if I hadn't married Cindy, he wouldn't hire me to mow the grass.”

“Hey,
she
chose you. JD'll just have to live with it,” the taller one said.

A moment later, a young brunette came into the room from the patio. “There you are, Mike. Hi, guys.” She nodded to Mike's friends. “We need your help outside, Mike. No one can find RJ,” she said, taking his hand in hers.

“Victoria needs to give that kid some space, Cindy. Your aunt's smothering him,” Mike said.

“That's not our problem.
Our
problem is that Dad's having a fit because RJ's not here with his mom greeting people, and when Dad's unhappy, he takes it out on everyone.”

“That's for sure. Okay, Cindy, I'll go help you look,” he said, rolling his eyes. Mike nodded to his friends, then left with his wife.

“His ol' lady leads him by the nose,” one of the men muttered.

“Hey, you gotta pay your dues. Mike'll never worry about money again, but he can kiss his cojones good-bye.”

As they moved off across the room toward the food, Sister Agatha saw Mike and Cindy come back inside from the patio. The two stopped to talk to Al Russo, whom Sister Agatha had noticed earlier seated in an armchair. When Mike and Cindy continued upstairs, presumably looking for the boy, Russo stood, glanced around the room, then proceeded outside. Sister Agatha followed him and, standing by a red plum tree, saw him leave the brick patio and make his way across the spacious grounds.

Russo seemed to know precisely where he was going. Sister
Agatha followed him across the lawn, keeping her pace slow as if she were simply going for a stroll. Soon she saw Russo enter a fenced-off area containing a riding arena and horse stalls.

Taking a seat on a cedar garden bench, she turned to one side, her right ear in the direction of the stables, watching out of the corner of her eye.

Russo stopped by a hitching rail and called out to the boy. A moment later, a small, dark-haired seven-year-old boy with glasses peered out over the solid wooden gate of one of the stalls.

“I don't want to go inside,” he yelled.

Al nodded calmly. “Me neither, RJ. Just a lot of strangers in suits and Sunday dresses hanging around, eating and looking bored. It's pretty awful right now.”

The boy, looking relieved, nodded. “Yeah.”

“What did you do with your ball, slugger? We can play catch.”

RJ shook his head. “Dad took it at the picnic and gave it to Mom to put away. He said I'd have to crush a bunch of cans for the charity drive to get it back. It was signed, too.”

“You get in trouble again?”

“Nah. Just the same old thing,” he said with a shrug. “He takes my stuff, then I have to earn it back by learning some kind of lesson. He says I'm ‘building character.' ”

“Yeah,” Al said. Sister Agatha watched the man's face harden.

“Mitch the Missile signed it himself,” RJ said indignantly. “Plus he signed a 'Topes roster for me, with my name on it and everything, and Dad took that away, too.”

Al smiled at the boy. “You mean this one?” Russo produced a pamphlet with the distinctive Albuquerque Isotopes logo from his inside pocket. The kid's face lit up instantly. “Just remember to put it in your special place when you get home. If you ask your Mom, she'll give you back the ball.”

“Thanks, Al!” He looked at the roster, then back up at Russo. “Do I still have to go back inside?”

“Whatever for? I never saw you. A word of advice, though. Stay out of sight for a while. Mike and Cindy are on your trail.”

As Al Russo headed back inside, Sister Agatha avoided eye contact with him, looking down as if praying. The little boy had a good friend in Russo. Yet what she'd just heard from RJ had raised even more discouraging questions about Robert Garcia's character.

Sister Agatha walked back across the lawn and entered the main room off the patio. Spotting Sister Bernarda, and not seeing the mayor anywhere, she went to join her fellow extern. Sister Bernarda was standing near Victoria Garcia, who was seated at the end of one of the big leather sofas, a plate heaped with food on her lap.