False Witness (8 page)

Sister Agatha nodded. “Go on.”

“She saw Angie through the store window as she passed by and they made eye contact. My associate paid for her purchases and hurried out of the store, intending on catching up to her but, by then, my niece was nowhere in sight. It happened so fast she was sure she’d spooked Angie somehow.”

“What kind of work does Angie do?”

“She has a degree in business and has worked in real estate. What she’s doing now …,” he shrugged.

“I could use a photo if you have one,” Sister Agatha said.

He motioned toward an envelope on the nightstand next to him and she reached for it. Inside the inn’s stationery was a small snapshot. “That’s a copy I made from the original. It’s five years old.”

Sister Agatha looked at the grainy image, cropped and enlarged
from an apparent group photo. The face looked vaguely familiar. Maybe she had seen Angie in the Bernalillo area. The knowledge made Mr. Gutierrez’s offer even more tempting.

“What have you done to try and find her?”

“According to my investigators, every phone book and journal in four states has been checked, including all the databases online that we can access. If Angie’s married and has a new name now … well, it’s not possible to check out every Angela in the country, is it? But this new lead is the best I have. It makes sense that she’d return to Bernalillo. Angie lived in the area for many years and she has some very happy childhood memories of this place.”

“What were her interests and hobbies?”

“She loved country-western dancing and used to frequent some of the local nightclubs. And, as far as hobbies, she always liked hiking in the bosque.” A faraway look came over him as he continued. “I still remember the first hike Angie went on with her father and me. We’d decided to spend the night in the Manzanos, south of Capilla Peak. I used to love that area, and at that time I was still working as a hunting guide. Halfway down the trail to our planned campsite, Angie realized that her favorite stuffed animal was missing from her backpack—a raggedy, pitiful-looking white rabbit. We offered to buy her a new one when we returned to town—then a dozen new ones—but she wasn’t having any of it. Her dad and I ended up walking almost the entire distance down the mountain trail to where we’d parked the car, searching for that thing,” he said then began to cough. After taking a sip of water, he continued. “By the time we found it, it looked chewed up, like a wild animal had played with it, but it didn’t make any difference to her.”

He paused until his breathing evened again. “Memories
like those are what I hold most dear right now—and if there is an afterlife, that’s what I’m taking with me. Family matters to me, Sister, though it took me a long time to realize that.”

Sister Agatha returned the photo to the envelope and placed it back on the nightstand. “If Reverend Mother says I can take the job, I’ll be back for the photo and that check. But I don’t feel right taking either until she gives me permission.”

“That’s fine,” he said, then went into a long coughing spasm that left him shaky and breathless.

She walked to the pitcher and refilled his water glass without being asked. “Are you all right?” she asked, as he took it from her hand.

He nodded. “It’s uncomfortable, that’s all,” he managed.

“I do have one more question,” Sister Agatha said. “How close are you to selling the vineyard?”

“Eric Barclay’s interested in buying it back from me. I took it off his hands a few years ago when he was having financial troubles. He’s already offered me what I paid for it plus five percent, but the truth is that my own financial advisers insist I can do better. There’s another party putting together an offer I believe will be much more lucrative.”

“And what do the other prospective buyers plan to do with the vineyards?”

“I have no idea, but I do know the individuals have two significant rental apartment structures within the Albuquerque area.”

Sister Agatha managed not to groan. “I’ll be in touch again as soon as Reverend Mother makes her decision, which I expect will be shortly,” she said, standing.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Sister.”

Soon she and Pax were on their way back to the monastery. As she sped down a long curve in the road, Sister Agatha spotted
a sedan quickly closing in on her. It was no one she recognized, but as the distance between them narrowed, a sixth sense warned her of danger. Sister Agatha glanced at Pax, who seemed to sense her abrupt change of mood, and now sat fully alert.

“Hang on,” she said. Accelerating, she zipped into a side street that wound its way back around to the main highway. When the sedan didn’t follow, she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she was getting paranoid.

Then she spotted the sedan again. It was coming up the side street and once again closing in on her. She thought about the hacker who’d been causing so many problems for them, remembering that he or she was a local. Maybe he
had
read that old article in the paper and knew that the nuns were now managing the NexCen Web site. If he’d also grown tired of those impersonal computer attacks …

“I don’t like this, Pax. Hang on, boy,” she yelled over the rumble of the motorcycle as she accelerated.

Sister Agatha moved out, heading down one of the back roads that ran toward the river. By the time she doubled back, circled around, and reached the main road, now south of Bernalillo, no one was behind her.

She smiled, satisfied, but then, a second later, she heard a siren and, as she slowed down and pulled over, she saw the sedan she’d tried so hard to avoid coming up behind her.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sheriff Tom Green called out as he parked and got out of the unmarked sedan. “Practicing how to lose a tail?” he added with a grin.

She removed her helmet and glared at him. “You knot-head! Why didn’t you use the emergency lights or siren before now? You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“I just wanted to show you my new car so you’d recognize
it. What’s making you so jumpy?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing. Really,” she added, seeing the open look of skepticism on his face. She didn’t expect him to talk about police business that didn’t concern her, so there was no reason why she should discuss monastery business with him—or the problem with their computers. “Have you found out anything that might help us get compensated for our broken gate?” she asked, changing the subject quickly.

He shook his head. “I know how important that is to all of you, so I’m not ignoring it. But the only thing I’ve got is some scuttlebutt. Jack Miller’s planning to sue Liz and Leeann’s families.”

“That’s a waste of time. They have no money to give him. I’d pressure them myself if I thought it would get me the name of whoever was behind the wheel of that SUV.” She paused and then holding his gaze, added, “We’ve got to find a way to get those kids to tell us what they know.”

“The problem is that neither girl is in custody now so—” Before he could say anything else, he received a call on his cell phone. Tom stepped away from the Harley, spoke hurriedly for a moment, then closed up the phone. “Gotta go. There’s a problem back at the station.”

After he drove off, Sister Agatha fastened her helmet and continued north through town, intending to return to the monastery. As she passed the Burger Biggins, the new local hot spot for the town’s teens, she caught a glimpse of Liz standing beside a customized car talking to some tough-looking kids.

Away from authority figures like the police and her mother, Sister Agatha suspected that she would have a better shot at getting answers from Liz—that is, of course, providing
she could find a way to separate her from her friends for a few moments. To that end, she came up with an idea that was practically foolproof. With a smile, Sister Agatha made a left turn. She had work to do at the Burger Biggins.

L
IZ STOOD WITH THREE BOYS WHO WERE WEARING EXTREMELY
baggy pants, dark, sleeveless T-shirts, and amateur tattoos with a stylized font that reminded her of old English.

As Sister Agatha pulled into the parking slot next to them and stopped, one of the boys whistled. “Hey, Sister, primo set of wheels there!”

Sister Agatha removed her helmet and placed a hand on Pax, making sure he stayed inside the sidecar at sit. “Ernesto, I haven’t seen you in years,” she said, recognizing him from his grade-school days at St. Charles despite the peach fuzz haircut.

“Nobody but Tia Rosita calls me Ernesto anymore, Sister. My name’s Macho.”

“Really? Well, I have to agree with Tia Rosita. To me, you’ll always be Ernesto.” She looked at each face, making eye
contact with every member of the group. “I was just talking to Sheriff Green, and I believe he’s looking for some volunteers to help scrub off some of the graffiti on the sides of buildings downtown. Would you guys like to lend a hand?” she asked. Tom had said no such thing—not this time—but there was a project going on, sponsored by the Police Athletic League, so it wasn’t a total lie.

Ernesto and his two male companions reacted exactly the way she’d hoped.

“Uh … okay, Sister. Maybe later. But I gotta go now,” Ernesto said, reaching for the door handle on the low-slung car just behind him.

The other two boys with him avoided eye contact with her as well and, muttering excuses, shuffled toward an adjacent vehicle as quickly as their “cool” walk would allow.

By the time Sister Agatha looked back at Liz, she saw the girl was trying to slink away. Using her best teacher/nun voice, she snapped, “One moment, Liz.”

The girl stopped in her tracks, rolling her eyes as Ernesto drove away, in case he was watching, then finally turned to face her. “You want me for something else, Sister? Please tell me it isn’t that gate thing again!”

“Liz, it’s just you and me here now … well, and Pax,” she said, noting that the girl had her eyes on the dog, who was still in the sidecar. “Relax.”

“You’re so lucky to have him, Sister,” Liz said, going over to pet him. “He’s really beautiful. When I leave home that’s one of the first things I’ll be getting,” Liz said, then started to put her hands into her pockets before she realized her slacks had no pockets. Awkwardly, she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Sister Agatha allowed the silence to stretch out between
them, sensing Liz wanted to tell her something, but was finding it difficult to put into words.

“You
know
I’m not involved in what happened at the monastery, right, Sister Agatha?” Liz said. “And I don’t drink or go cruising with anyone who would do that either.”

“You’re still hanging around with the wrong crowd,” Sister Agatha said softly. “And when that becomes a habit, you can get caught up in trouble you never intended.”

“I’m not part of a gang, honest. But the people I
thought
were my friends at St. Charles just don’t want to hang with me anymore. Guys like Ernesto at least don’t look down their noses at me.”

“Liz, you’re still dancing around the big issue. You
know
something about the accident at our gates that you’re not telling me.”

“You’re wrong, Sister. I don’t know anything about who stole that SUV, and I wasn’t there when someone used it to ram your gates. I swear! I can’t figure out how those beer cans got there. Maybe someone put my prints on them. It’s possible to do that, you know. I saw it on TV.”

Sister Agatha gave her an incredulous look. “Come on, Liz. Give us both a break.”

Liz sighed and stepped closer to Sister Agatha. “Okay,” she whispered, “but you can’t tell anyone.”

Even under these circumstances Sister Agatha couldn’t bring herself to purposely mislead Liz. “Will Sheriff Green need to know what you’re going to tell me in order to make an arrest?”

“No,” Liz answered flatly.

“Okay—go for it then. I’m listening.”

“Leeann and I got invited to Sheila Conner’s house that night for a kind-of party. Sheila’s parents were out of town, so
we snuck out after Leeann’s parents went to bed. One of the guys Sheila invited brought a six-pack and we each had
one
beer. That’s it, Sister. And I didn’t even finish mine. I just sipped it for a while. I hate beer, and this wasn’t even cold. It almost made me gag.”

“Then how does the wrecked SUV fit into this? I don’t understand,” Sister Agatha asked.

“Neither do we. We never left her house—well, except for one time—until we snuck back into Leeann’s at around two in the morning.”

“What happened that one time, Liz? What did you do?”

She tugged at her ring and stared at her hand. “That was when Sheila and I dumped the empties in her neighbor’s trash can across the street,” she muttered. “If Sheila’s dad had seen the cans in
their
garbage, he would have grounded her until after the Second Coming.”

Sister Agatha nodded thoughtfully. She knew the Conners. Sheila’s dad had been arrested for domestic abuse, and his wife had spent time at the battered-woman’s shelter. “Sheila took quite a chance,” Sister Agatha said softly, “and so did you and Leeann.”

“I know, but we all feel sorry for Sheila. Sheila’s parents don’t allow her to do
anything
. I don’t blame her for cutting loose once in a while. But as God’s my witness, Sister Agatha, none of us have the remotest idea how those cans got into that SUV. We put them in the neighbor’s recycle bin. There was no lid, and it was full already, so the cans were on top. But why would anyone go pick them out? To take the last sip? Yuck.”

“That still sounds like a strange story, Liz. Someone stealing basically empty beer cans?” Sister Agatha challenged her with a long, skeptical gaze.

“Sister, I’m telling you the truth. Macho—Ernesto—was
there trying to make his move on Leeann. And, yeah, we were drinking beer. But
no way
we’d steal a car.”

“Gangs have been known to do that, and Ernesto’s in a gang,” Sister Agatha pressed.

“The Diablos Locos act tough and all that, but none of them will risk the D-home or jail. Macho’s uncle is a cop, and he leans on Macho pretty hard. That’s why Macho stays clean—not including the beer, of course.”